[CHAPTER XIV.]
THE CATASTROPHE.
Several days had elapsed since the fall of the presidio of San Lucar. The pueblo had been given up to pillage, with refinements of barbarity impossible to describe. Only the principal buildings had been spared, thanks to the measures employed by the Tigercat, who to save the immense treasures they contained, had allotted them to the most powerful sachems of the tribes who followed him.
The old freebooter had established his headquarters in the former dwelling of Don Torribio Quiroga, which the latter had gracefully ceded to him. Doña Hermosa and her father had resumed possession of their own mansion.
The town, with none but Indians for inhabitants, had a mournful aspect: no more commerce; no more cheerful songs; nothing left of the careless spirit of gaiety which formerly animated the Mexican colony. Here and there in the open streets lay corpses, battled for by the birds of prey, festering, and infecting the atmosphere. In a word, the whole scene afforded the spectacle of that desolation which accompanies a war of extermination between two races who have been foes for centuries.
About a week after the events we have described in the preceding chapter, three persons were assembled, about ten o'clock in the morning, in a room in Don Pedro de Luna's house, and were talking in low tones. These three persons were, Don Pedro himself, Doña Hermosa, and the worthy capataz Luciano Pedralva, who, huddled up in the fantastical costume of a vaquero, looked like a monstrous robber, exciting bursts of laughter from Ña Manuela, who was seated, on the watch, at a window. Every time she looked at him, she broke into a fresh laugh, to the indignation of the capataz, who voted his disguise at the devil.
"Well as we have agreed," said Don Pedro, "you must put on your pumps, Luciano, and prepare for the dance."
"And it is to take place today?"
"It must, my good friend. It seems to me that we live in singular times, and in a very singular country. I have seen many revolutions, but this beats them all."