While the army halted at Tlascala, the aged chieftain of Titcala offered to one of the newly arrived cavaliers so great a sum in gold dust for his horse, a dainty sorrel mare, that the offer was promptly accepted. This purchase was immediately transferred to Huetzin, of whom his grandfather was so proud, that he was determined to give the young warrior an opportunity for making as brave an appearance as any of his white comrades. Thus Huetzin, raised to a pinnacle of proud happiness by his new possession, became the first native of the new world to own and bestride one of those marvellous animals which, but a year before, had been spoken of throughout all Anahuac as either gods or devils. He named his mare "Cocotin" (little girl), and, under the skilful teachings of Sandoval, who was almost as delighted to see him mounted as he was to be so, he soon became an expert horseman.
From Tlascala the conquerors made all speed over the rugged Cordilleras, though this time, as a measure of precaution, taking a more northerly route than that traversed before. On the western brow of the mountains it presented the broad Mexican valley from an entirely different point of view. It gave, however, the same exquisite picture of shimmering lakes with white-walled cities and villas resting on their bosoms, fire-tipped teocallis, dark groves, blooming fields, and encircling walls of distant blue, that some of them had gazed on before. At their feet lay the city of Tezcuco, shaded by cypresses, while, far across the shining waters, rose the inscrutable walls of Tenochtitlan, either the prison or the grave of their friends.
Their fears that it was the latter were aroused, as they descended into the valley, by the coolness and even rudeness of their treatment by its inhabitants. As they entered the city of Tezcuco, where they proposed to rest for the night, their reception was even more chilling than any yet experienced. No one came forth to give them welcome, and, as they marched through the silent streets, only a furtive face, peering now and then from a doorway, proved that any living soul still remained in the city. These things raised uneasy forebodings, not only in the mind of Cortes, but throughout all his army, as to the fate of Alvarado and those with him, and they would have given much for news from the distant city. Not only would it put an end to their suspense, but by it their future movements could be determined. At a time and in a manner that they least expected it, the news came.
The night had passed quietly, and Huetzin, who had charge of the morning watch, stood on the shore of the lake, noting the rosy flush of morning redden the snow-fields of towering Popocatepetl. A mist hung over the waters that hid their farther shore and the city in which he had dared and suffered so much. As he gazed in the direction of Tenochtitlan, he became aware of moving forms out on the lake, dimly disclosed through the lifting fog. They were advancing toward him, and soon resolved themselves into two canoes, one behind the other. In a moment Huetzin saw that in the first a slight youth was paddling with a desperate energy, and evidently endeavoring to escape from the other. In the second a man, clad in the white robe of a priest, was laboring with an equal effort, and, by his superior strength, was surely gaining on the other. After them more canoes shot out of the mist, all coming from the same direction, and all advancing at their utmost speed.
A light craft lay drawn up on the shore, not far from where the young Toltec stood, and, as a wild cry for aid came quavering across the waters from the foremost canoe, Huetzin, first giving an alarm to his own men, sprang into it, and put forth to the assistance of the hard-pressed fugitive. As he did so, the man robed like a priest, who led the pursuit, dropped his paddle, seized a bow lying in the bottom of his boat, and stood up, with a copper-tipped arrow drawn back to its head. Huetzin uttered a cry of horror as the cruel shaft sped on its deadly errand, and sank deep in the back of the flying youth, striking him squarely between the shoulders. As the stricken lad fell forward, there came an exultant cry across the still waters: "Thus deals Topil with the enemies of his gods!" Then his canoe was spun around, and joined those of the other pursuers in an unharmed flight across the lake, though a dozen bullets were sent whistling after them, by the few musketeers who had been attracted to the shore.
Although Huetzin heard the priest's words plainly enough, he did not, at the moment, realize their full meaning. Filled with sorrow for the young stranger whom he had just seen so cruelly shot down, and who he felt must be a friend, he drove his own craft rapidly to where the other lay drifting. Its occupant, who seemed a mere boy, clad in the picturesque costume of a king's page, lay, face downward in a pool of his life's blood that was forming in the bottom of the canoe. The arrow had been sped truly, and with a deadly force.
As Huetzin, stepping into the canoe, lifted the lad to an easier position, a filmy scarf wound about his head, fell off, and a wealth of auburn hair tumbled over his shoulders. Then a pair of glorious, brown eyes were opened, and fixed full on the face of the Tlascalan warrior. The latter grew rigid, as though from a numbing shock. The very blood in his veins turned chill. A voice that he had thought never again to hear, came to his ears. It was very faint, but the words were clear and distinct:
"Huetzin, my brother! My dear, dear, brother! I knew you would come, though they said you were dead. You are fighting for the true faith, for the old faith, are you not, dear? I, too, have done what I could. Now I am dying for it. Gladly. Help me to make the sign, Huetzin. The holy sign of the Toltecs. There. Now it—is well. Huetzin!—Father!—Mother!——" The brown eyes closed gently, like those of an infant dropping into peaceful slumber. The queenly head sunk back on the strong arm supporting it; there came a soft sigh, and, as the rising sun burst in full glory from behind snow-crowned Popocatepetl, the spirit of Tiata mingled with its flood of brightness.
Like one who dreams, Huetzin sat with the light burden in his arms, gazing at the calmly beautiful face of his dead sister, but seeming to see far beyond it. There was that in his expression that caused those who came to his assistance to respect his silence, though they knew not that the form, which he held, was other than what it appeared. Very gently they led his canoe to land, and, when its prow grated on the beach, he rose and stepped out, still bearing his burden. They offered to relieve him of it, but he paid no heed. As he lifted it a letter addressed to the Spanish commander fell to the ground. It was from Alvarado, and it contained the news, so longed for, that the garrison still held out. It concluded: "Were it not that I realize the great importance of this word to you, and that your movements will be guided by it, I should not strive to send it. Almost certain death awaits any messenger who attempts to pass the lines that the priests, who are heading this insurrection, have drawn about us. No ordinary despatch bearer could cross them. I am sending this by a king's page, a brave lad, who has volunteered for the service, and will get through the lines if it be in the power of mortal to do so. I heartily recommend him to your favor, and pray that no harm may befall him."
While this letter, borne hastily to Cortes, was being read by him, Huetzin, taking no notice of proffered assistance, and still appearing like one in a dream, bore his dead to his own quarters, and laid the slender form on his own bed. He had barely deposited his sorrowful burden, when Sandoval, who, hearing that something had gone amiss with his friend, had hastened with ready sympathy to find him, entered the room.