THE DEPARTURE.
As Don Sylva had announced to his daughter, by daybreak all was ready for the start. In Mexico, and specially in Sonora, where roads are mainly remarkable for their absence, the mode of travelling differs utterly from that adopted in Europe. There are no public vehicles, no relays of post horses; the only means of transport known and practised is on horseback.
A journey of only a few days entails interminable cares and vexations. You must carry everything with you, because you are certain of finding nothing on the road. Beds, tents, provisions and water before all, must be carried on mule-back. Without these indispensable precautions you would run a risk of dying from hunger or thirst, and sleeping in the open air.
You must also be provided with a considerable and well-armed escort, in order to repulse the attacks of wild beasts, Indians and especially robbers with whom all the roads of Mexico swarm, owing to the anarchy in which this unhappy country is plunged. Hence it is easy to comprehend the earnest desire Don Sylva felt to quit Guaymas at as early an hour as possible.
The court of the house resembled an hostelry. Fifteen mules laden with bales were waiting while the palanquin in which Doña Anita was to travel was being got ready. Some forty steeds, saddled, bridled, with musquetoons attached at to the troussequins, and pistols in the holsters, were fastened to rings in the wall while a peon held in hand a splendid stallion, magnificently harnessed, which stamped and champed its silver bit, which it covered with foam.
In the street a crowd of people, among whom were Don Martial and Cucharés, already returned from their expedition to the Rancho, were curiously regarding this departure, which they could not at all comprehend at such an advanced period of the year, so unpropitious for a country residence, and making all sorts of comments on the reason of the journey.
Among all these people, collected by accident or through curiosity, was a man, evidently an Indian, who, leaning carelessly against the wall, never took his eyes off the door of Don Sylva's house, and followed with evident interest all the movements of the hacendero's numerous servants.
This man, still young, appeared to be an Hiaqui Indian, although an observer, after a close inspection, would have asserted the contrary; for there was in the man's wide brow, in his eyes, whose glitter he tried in vain to moderate, in the haughty mouth, and above all, in the native elegance of his vigorous limbs, which seemed carved on the model of the Greek Hercules, something proud, resolute and independent, which rather denoted the proud Comanche or ferocious Apache than the stupid Hiaqui; but in this crowd no one dreamed of troubling himself about the Indian, who, for his part, was careful to attract as little attention as possible.
The Hiaquis are accustomed to come to Guaymas, and let themselves out as workmen or servants; hence the presence of an Indian there is not at all extraordinary, and is not noticed.
At last, at about eight o'clock, Don Sylva, giving his hand to his daughter, who was dressed in a charming travelling costume, appeared beneath the portico of the house. Doña Anita was pale as a ghost. Her haggard features, her swollen eyes, testified to the sufferings of the night, and the restraint she was forced to place on herself, even at this moment, to prevent her bursting into tears in the presence of all. At the sight of the young lady, Don Martial and Cucharés exchanged a rapid glance, while a smile of indefinable expression played round the lips of the Indian to whom we have alluded.