The worthy Don Luciano shuddered on hearing the details of what had occurred between Don Pablo and the squatters. He swore that he would, without delay, take an exemplary vengeance for this starting felony on the part of the heretic dogs, and that it was high time to bring them reason. Confirming himself more and more in his resolution, he buckled on his sword, gave orders to twenty well-armed alguaciles to mount, and placing himself at the head of this numerous escort, he proceeded toward Buffalo Valley.
Don Miguel had witnessed with secret annoyance all these formidable preparations. He placed but slight confidence in the courage of the policemen, and he would have preferred the judge leaving him master to act as he pleased. He had even adroitly attempted to obtain from Don Luciano a regular warrant, which he would have executed however he might think proper; but the judge, burning with an unusual warlike ardor, and spurred on by the large sum he had received, would listen to nothing, but insisted on himself taking the head of the expedition.
Don Luciano Pérez was a plump little man of about sixty years of age, round as a tub, with a jolly face, adorned with a rubicund nose and two cunning little eyes. This man cordially detested the North Americans; and, in the courageous deed he was committing at this moment, hatred was as much the instigation as avarice.
The little band set out at a canter, and proceeded rapidly toward the forest. The judge hurled fire and flames at the audacious usurpers, as he called them; he spoke of nothing less than killing them without mercy, if they attempted even the slightest resistance to the orders he was about to give them. Don Miguel, who was much calmer, and foreboded no good from this great wrath, sought in vain to pacify him by telling him that he would in all probability have to do with men difficult to intimidate, against whom coolness would be the best weapon.
They gradually approached. The hacendero, in order to shorten the journey, had led the band by a cross road, which saved at least one-third the distance; and the first trees of the forest already appeared about two miles off. The mischief produced by the squatters was much more considerable than Don Pablo had represented to his father; and, at the first glance, it seemed impossible that, in so short a time, four men, even though working vigorously, could have accomplished it. The finest trees lay on the ground; enormous piles of planks were arranged at regular distances, and on the San Pedro an already completed raft only awaited a few more stems of trees to be thrust into the water.
Don Miguel could not refrain from sighing at the sight of the devastation committed in one of his best forests; but the nearer they approached the spot where they expected to meet the squatters, the more lukewarm grew the warlike zeal of the judge and his acolytes, and the hacendero soon found himself compelled to urge them on, instead of restraining them as he had hitherto done. Suddenly the sound of an axe re-echoed a few paces ahead of the band. The judge impelled by the feeling of his duty, and shame of appearing frightened, advanced boldly in the direction of the sound, followed by his escort.
"Stop!" a rough voice shouted at the moment the policemen turned the corner of a lane.
With that instinct of self-preservation which never abandons them, the alguaciles stopped as if their horses' feet had been suddenly welded to the ground. Ten paces from them stood a man in the centre of the ride, leaning on an American rifle. The judge turned to Don Miguel with such an expression of hesitation and honest terror that the hacendero could not refrain from laughing.
"Come, courage, Don Luciano," he said to him. "This man is alone; he cannot venture to bar our passage."
"Con mil diablos!" the judge exclaimed, ashamed of this impression which he could not master, and frowning portentously, "forward, you fellows, and fire on that scoundrel if he make but a sign to resist you."