CHAPTER IV.
THE OUTLAWS' CAMP.
It was now nearly dark. The impressive scene I had just witnessed, and in which I had become so absorbed as to lose all consciousness of danger, now forcibly reminded me that this was not a safe place of retreat for the night. I descended from the tree, seeing all clear, and hurried out toward the edge of the plain, where I discovered a trail leading down parallel with the creek. The water-hole I knew must be on this creek, for there was no other in sight. It could not be more than two or three miles distant, and there was yet sufficient light to enable me to keep within range of the bushes on the left. I walked on rapidly for nearly an hour, sometimes stumbling into the deep fissures which had been made in the ground by the heat of the sun, and often obliged to descend deep arroyas and seek for some time before I could find an outlet on the other side; but in the course of an hour I was rejoiced to see a point of woodland jutting into the plain, not over a few hundred yards distant, in the midst of which there was the glimmer of a fire.
I say rejoiced, for certainly that was the first sensation; but in approaching the light I could not but think of the savage character of the country, and the probability of meeting with company here as little to my liking as any I had yet encountered. This part of the Salinas was entirely out of the range of civilization; neither miners nor settlers had yet intruded upon these dreary solitudes; and the chances were greatly in favor of meeting a party of Sonoranian desperadoes or outlawed Californians. Yet what inducement could I present for robbery or murder in such a destitute plight? Without coat, blankets, pistol, or property of any kind except a watch concealed in the fob of my pantaloons—even without money; for what little I owned, not over forty or fifty dollars, was contained in a leather purse in the pocket of my coat—of what avail would it be to molest me? If plunder should be an object, they must already be in possession of all I had.
These considerations somewhat allayed my apprehensions; and, at all events, I saw no alternative but to keep on. As I descended from the plain into the oak grove bordering upon the bed of the creek, I observed that there were only two men in camp. From their costume—the common blue shirts, pantaloons, and rough boots of ordinary travelers on the way to the mines—I judged them to be Americans. Nor was I mistaken. The very first word I heard spoken was an oath, which it is unnecessary for me to repeat.
"I say, Griff," said one, in a coarse, brutal voice, "if he comes don't you budge. He'll be here certain."
"Jack," replied the man addressed, "you've done enough of that. You'd better hold up a while, that's my opinion."
The other laughed; not a joyous laugh of natural mirthfulness, but something resembling a chuckling sneer that was horribly repelling. An instinctive feeling prompted me to retrace my steps and strike out for the Mission of Soledad. Without well knowing why, I was impressed with an irresistible conviction that the spirit of sin brooded over this camp. Acting upon the impulse of the moment, I turned to retreat while yet undiscovered, when a man emerged from the bushes a little below, and called out sharply, "Who's that? Answer quick, or you're a dead man!"
I answered at once, "An American—a friend. Don't shoot! It's all right!"
I then advanced into the camp, where I was greeted with an uneasy and suspicious stare, very much unlike any reception I had ever met with before from a party of countrymen. There was either distrust or disappointment in their looks, probably both. The party consisted of three men, two of whom were standing by the fire cooking a piece of venison, while the third, who had hailed me from the bushes, seemed to have been on the look-out.
The man called "Jack"—he who had first spoken—was a swarthy, thick-set fellow, about thirty years of age, with a bull neck, a coarse black beard, and heavy sun-burned mustache. His eyes were overhung by bushy brows, and were of a cold, stony color and very deeply set, giving him an appearance of peeping out furtively from a chaparral of brush. A shock of black matted hair covered his head; his hands were begrimed with dirt, and his dress was ragged, greasy, and stained with blotches of filth and blood. On his feet he wore a pair of coarse heavy boots, out at the toes, in the legs of which his pantaloons were carelessly thrust, giving him a peculiarly slovenly and blackguard air. A belt around his waist, with a revolver and knife, and a leather pouch for balls and patching, completed his costume and trappings. I instinctively recoiled from this man. His whole expression—his voice, manner, dress, and all—pronounced him a coarse and unmitigated villain. There was not a single redeeming point about him that I could discover. Hard, crafty, and cruel, profane, filthy, and brutal, his character was patent at a glance. If he was not intrinsically bad, nature had grievously belied him.
"JACK."
The other, to whom this fellow had addressed his remarks when I first heard their voices, and who was called "Griff," was apparently somewhat younger, though rough and weather-beaten, as if he had been much exposed. His form was gaunt and athletic, and his height over six feet. There was something very sad in the expression of his face, which was well chiseled, and not destitute of a certain quality of rough, manly beauty. A prominent nose; firm and compressed lips; a square projecting chin, evincing firmness, and a liquid blue eye, with a mingled expression of gentleness and determination; deep furrows, tending downward from the corners of his mouth; long waving hair, and a light mustache, gave him something of a heroic cast of countenance, which, but for an appearance of general recklessness, would have redeemed him under all the disadvantages of ragged clothes and evil associations. Yet I felt at once interested in this man. He seemed embarrassed as I scanned his features, apparently struggling with some natural impulse of politeness, which prompted him to offer me a more kindly welcome than his comrades had bestowed upon me; but, if such an impulse moved him, it was speedily checked. He drew his hat over his brow, and resumed his occupation at the fire without saying a word. Still, even his silence was not unfriendly.
The third of this strange party was a lithe, wiry man, not over five feet eight in height, but compact and not ungracefully formed. He was apparently much older than either of the others. To look upon him once was to receive an impression of evil that could never be effaced. His countenance was the most repellent I had ever seen, far surpassing that of the man "Jack" in cool, crafty malignity. I could readily imagine that this was the leader in all that required subtlety, intellect, and skill. His forehead was high and narrow; his eyes closely set together, black, and of piercing brilliancy; his features sharp and mobile; but it was his mouth that more than all gave him the distinguishing expression of cruelty and cunning. A sardonic smile continually played upon his thin, bloodless lips. Every muscle seemed under perfect control. It might well be said of this man that
"He could smile, and smile, and be a villain still,"
for villainy lurked in every feature. Yet he was not deficient in a certain air of personal neatness to which the other two had no pretensions. His jet-black hair was closely cut, and his face quite destitute of beard, and of that peculiar leaden color which indicates a long career of dissipation. In his dress he was even slightly foppish; wore a green cassimere hunting-jacket, with brass buttons; a white shirt, a breast-pin, and a pair of check pantaloons. His fingers were adorned with rings, and a watch-guard hung from his neck. The hilt of a bowie-knife, ornamented with silver, protruded from under the breast of his vest, and a revolver hung from a belt around his waist. In his motions he was quick, supine, and noiseless. Something of the basilisk there was about this man—something brilliant and glossy, as if he shone with a peculiar light. I fancied I had seen gamblers like him in New Orleans, fierce yet wary men, accustomed to play at hazardous games; glossy outside and of fascinating suavity, but corrupt to the core. Even his green coat added to the illusion; it fitted him so neatly, and seemed so like the natural slimy skin of a poisonous reptile. It was evident this was no ordinary adventurer. His manner was that of a man of the world; he had seen much, and he knew much, mostly of evil I fancied, for all that was about him was essentially bad. A certain deference toward him was perceptible in the manner of the other two men, especially in that of the thick-set fellow called Jack, who lost much of his bravado air when "the Colonel" spoke, for such was the title accorded to the last-named of the party. The Colonel was pleased to scan me very closely for some moments before he opened his lips. When he spoke I was astonished at the change in his voice, which, when I first heard it, was sharp and hard. It was now wonderfully soft and silky.
"Sir," said he, blandly, "you seem to have lost your way. Have you walked far?"
"Not very," was my answer. "Only five miles. My mule threw me and ran away. I was unable to catch him, and thought probably he had made his way to this pool of water. Have you seen him?—a large brown mule, with a roll of blankets and a coat fastened to the saddle?"
The Colonel smiled pleasantly.
"I see, friend, you are not accustomed to traveling in this rough style. Your mule has doubtless gone back to his old quarters, wherever you got him. A mule never goes farther in a new direction than he can help."
"But I saw him start for this point. He was very thirsty, I know; and, besides, he came from the Colorado not over a month ago. His course would naturally be to the southward if he desired to return to his old quarters."
"Very likely," said the Colonel, quietly: "it may be the same mule I sold to a gentleman from Texas down there about that time."
"Yes—I bought him from a Texan. It must be the same," I answered, glad to find some clew, however remote, to the object of my search.
The Colonel smiled again, and expressed his regret that it was not the nature of that mule to go in the direction of the Colorado. The fare for mules in that region was rather dry; and the animal in question had a very keen appreciation of good fare. At all events, no such mule had been seen here—"unless, perhaps, you may have seen him," added the Colonel, turning to the thick-set man, and regarding him with a peculiar expression—the same basilisk eye that I had noticed before.
"I?" said Jack, laughing coarsely; "the last mule I saw was a small mustang horse that belongs to myself."
"Possibly you may have seen him?" suggested the Colonel, looking at the tall, gaunt man, Griff; and here I could not but notice the change in his expression. His brow unconsciously lowered, and there was something devilish in the cool malignity of his eye. Griff was silent. His frame seemed convulsed with some emotion of disgust or hatred. The Colonel, turning quickly to me, observed, with an affected suavity, "This man may possibly be able to tell you something about your mule."
At this the person referred to drew himself up into an erect position, and gave a look at the Colonel—a look of such mingled hatred, defiance, and contempt, that I expected to see the latter wilt before it or draw his revolver. But he did neither. And here I detected the secret of his power over the other two men—imperturbable self-possession. He merely elevated his brows superciliously as Griff sternly remarked,
"You know as much of the mule as I do! What do you ask me for? Be careful."
"Oh," said the Colonel, jocularly, "I thought you might have seen him while I was absent. You know I'm not in the habit of noticing these things."
Griff resumed his slouching attitude, stirring the fire moodily, while the Colonel requested me to be seated, and proceeded to do the honors of the repast. All that I have attempted to describe was perfectly quiet; not a loud word was spoken, and but for the peculiar expression of each face, involving some dark complicity of experience, it might have passed unnoticed. There was really nothing said that necessarily bore an evil import. Yet what was it that filled me with such an indefinable abhorrence of these men—of two of them, at least? That they were unprincipled adventurers, I knew; that they were depraved enough to be professed gamblers, highway robbers, or horse thieves, was reasonable to suppose from their appearance; but there was something more than that about them. The leader was no common gambler or horse-thief. He was too keen, too polished, too subtle for that. He might be a forger, a slave speculator, a dealer in blood-hounds, a gambler in fancy stocks; yet this was no country for the exercise of that sort of talent—at least that portion of it which he had chosen as a place of temporary abode. He might be on his way to the mines. I asked no questions. It was enough to feel the evil influence of the present—enough to know by intuition that the hands of this man were stained with some deadly sin.
Hungry as I was, I could not swallow the bread he gave me without a choking sensation of disgust. The act of eating with him implied a species of fellowship against which my very soul rebelled.
Of the swarthy man, Jack, I had a different impression. He was purely brutal. All his instincts were coarse, savage, and depraved. Whatever quickness or cunning he possessed was that of an animal. He was far inferior to the other in all the essential attributes of a successful villain. I looked upon him as upon a vicious brute.
For the tall fellow, Griff, I must confess I felt a strange sympathy. That he was not naturally depraved, no one who looked upon his fine features, and frank, manly bearing, could for a moment doubt. He might be dissipated, reckless, even criminal, but he surely was not all bad. There was something of conscience left in him yet—some human emotion of remorse. Otherwise, why was his expression so strangely sad? Why was it that there seemed to be no bond of sympathy between him and the others—beyond, perhaps, some complicity in crime, either accidental or the result of evil associations? A deadly fascination seemed to be spread over him by the leader, against which he struggled in vain. The slight outburst of passion which I had witnessed showed too plainly the powerful thraldom in which he was held. His defiant tone—the withering hatred of his eye—the impatient gesture of contempt, were but the momentary ebullitions of a proud spirit. No sentiment of personal fear could have found a place in that manly breast. The cause of his submission lay deeper than that. Something of self-accusation must have had a share in it, thus to paralyze his strength—something more inextricable than any web that mortal man could cast over him unaided by a sense of his own iniquity. I could not conjecture what crime he had committed. Whatever it was, I had a strong yearning to befriend him. Surely there was still hope for him; he could not be utterly lost without bearing in his features the impress of unmitigated evil.
As soon as supper was over, the Colonel lighted his pipe and seemed disposed to be sociable. It was impossible for me to get over the abhorrence I had for this man. Even his efforts to be agreeable had something sinister in them that increased my dislike. Still, I was in the power of these men, whether they chose to exercise it for good or for evil, and it behooved me to suppress any disrelish I might have for their company.
"You came from Soledad to-day, I think you said?" observed the Colonel.
"Yes; I stopped there last night."
"Did you meet any body on the road?" he asked, carelessly.
"Only two Spaniards from Santa Marguerita." The Colonel started.
"Any news from below?"
"None that I could understand. I don't speak the Spanish language."
"You heard nothing from San Miguel?"
"No."
"Which way are you bound, if I may take the liberty of asking?"
"To San Luis. I have business there connected with the revenue service. Unfortunately, my mule has disappeared with my blankets, coat, pistol, what little money I had, and my official papers, which are of no use to any body but myself. I fear the loss will subject me to great inconvenience."
"You are aware, I suppose," said the Colonel, with the same disagreeable smile I had before noticed, "that the road is considered a little dangerous for solitary travelers. Murders have been committed between this and San Miguel."
"Any lately?" I asked, assuming more composure than I felt.
"Why as for that," replied the Colonel, making an effort to be humorous, "it would be hard for me to keep the run of all I hear in this part of the country. Society is rather backward, and the newspapers do not keep us advised of the current events of the day."
Here there was a pause. I felt convinced that this man was capable of any deed, however dark and damning. Even while he spoke his fingers played with the butt of a revolver that hung from his belt. Something caught my eye as his hand moved—a small silver star near the lock of the pistol. This was not an ordinary mark. I at once knew the pistol to be mine. A friend had given it to me. The star was a fanciful device of his own, based upon the idea that its rays would guide the bullet to its destination. The Colonel detected my inquisitive glance, and smiled again in his peculiar way, but said nothing. If I had any doubt on the subject before, I now felt quite satisfied that he was not only a villain, but one who would not hesitate to take my life if it would serve his purpose. Whether his thoughts ran in that direction at present I could not determine. He possessed a wonderful power of inspiring dark impressions without uttering a word. The mere suspicion of such a design was at least unpleasant. At length he rose, having finished smoking his pipe, and with an air of indifference said,
"It must be getting late. Have you the time, sir?"
I pulled out my watch, scarcely conscious of the act, and remarked that it wanted a few minutes of nine.
"A nice-looking watch, that!" observed the Colonel. "It must be worth a hundred dollars."
"Yes, more than that," I answered; for I saw at once that any manifestation of suspicion would be the last thing to answer my purpose. "It cost $150 in New York. It is a genuine chronometer, and the casing is of solid gold."
The Colonel exchanged glances with the swarthy man, Jack, and proposed to go out and take a look at the horses. Before they had proceeded fifty yards they stopped and looked back. Griff had been sitting moodily before the fire during the conversation above related, and did not seem disposed to move at the summons of his leader, who now called sharply to him to come on. The same expression of defiant hatred that I had noticed before flashed from the man's eyes, and for a moment he seemed to struggle against the Colonel's malign influence. "Come!" said the latter, sharply, "what do you lag behind for? You know your duty!"
"Yes," muttered Griff, between his set teeth, "I know it! It is hardly necessary to remind me of it." He then rose and proceeded to join his comrades. As he passed by where I sat he hurriedly whispered, "Stay where you are. Don't attempt to escape yet. Depend upon me—I'll stand by you!"