“Though we avoided the villages,” continued Ashley, “I did not hesitate to question the few passengers we met upon the roads. These were chiefly wandering traders, stooping under their burdens of clay-ware or charcoal, adherents of no particular party, and reticent or the opposite, as their natural impulses or the supposed necessities of the time prompted. These I plied in vain for news of Pedro, of Pepé, or even of the noted Ramirez himself. Each and every one seemed to have passed, and left not even a memory behind; though from these very ranchos and hamlets I knew Doña Isabel’s troops had been drawn, and that the followers of Ramirez were daily drawing more,—forcing those they could not persuade, laughing at the protestations of the women, and feeding the adventurous ardor of the men with tales of daring exploits and promises of plunder. All this we heard, and knew the whole country was in a ferment, yet passed through it undetected, on our own part unable to catch a glimpse or hear a word of the covert from which Ramirez directed and inspired the movement. Travelling rapidly, we entered upon the third day a deep gorge, which cut the foothills of the very mountain that overshadowed the towers of the convent town toward which I was journeying. Still a painful stretch of twelve hours, of an almost pathless labyrinth of rock and sand, I was told, lay before us; and early in the evening I ordered a halt, intending to set forth before the day broke. One of my servants spoke of a spring which he knew of; and though the season was so dry that we had little hope of discovering it, we decided to push on, although at every step the horses seemed to protest against the effort,—for they had been ridden mercilessly, without change and almost without food or rest. As we neared the spot where we hoped to find water, the aspect of the country seemed to grow even more forbidding.
“‘The dry season has swallowed it,’ said the servant dejectedly, after a careful survey of the locality. ‘There is nothing here but sand,—a dry welcome for our thirsty beasts;’ and at a signal from me he threw himself from the saddle, and tethering his panting horse, clambered up the gorge to gather a handful of dry grease-wood with which to light a fire. Meanwhile, his fellow busied himself in unpacking the few articles we had brought, and I threw myself on the ground against a rock, feeling myself more secure in that wild and secluded pass than I had done since I left the hacienda.
“The place was very still. Although it was yet daylight in the world without, the whole gorge was in shadow. The crackling of the herbage under the horses’ feet, or a low word occasionally spoken by the men, was all that broke the stillness. I suppose from thought I was gradually falling into slumber, when the sound of horses galloping, of men laughing and shouting, broke upon the air. I started to my feet and seized my arms, calling for the men; but they had disappeared; the three horses were rearing and plunging. I caught and succeeded in mounting my own; but as the cavalcade drew near, I realized that its members were so numerous and in such mad humor that it would be worse than folly for me to approach them. One of my men had recovered from his panic, and stole up to me with blanched face and wide-staring eyes. I pointed to the horses, and with wonderful dexterity he bounded into the saddle of one, and caught the bridle of the other. In as little time as it takes me to tell it, we gained the shelter of the rock. Calmed by a few low words, the horses stood motionless, and from our covert we saw the company of lawless soldiery go by.
“Ramirez was at their head; and by a cord at his bridle-rein was tied a man, who vainly strove to keep pace with the gallop of his horse. At almost every step he fell, and was struck by the hoofs of the foremost horses, whose riders leaning down brought him again to his feet with blows from the flat sides of their swords. There were perhaps thirty ruffians engaged in this brutal sport; and after them ran a man at such a pace as only an Indian could maintain, even for moments, wringing his hands and praying and crying,—alternately a prayer and a curse. And in him, more by his voice, gasping and hoarse though it was, than by sight, I recognized Pepé Ortiz.”
Chinita would have screamed, but the ready hand of the peasant closed over her mouth. “The man! the man tied to the horse’s rein!” she gasped, when he released her.
“I could not see his face, and he had no breath to cry out,” said Ashley. “They passed so closely, I could have shot Ramirez like a dog. But I seemed paralyzed by horror. It did for me what perhaps a moment’s reflection would have done had I been capable of it,—it saved me from suicide. To have moved then would have been certain death. I could not comprehend the mad jests of those around the victim; but a moment after they passed I heard a sound which to all ears conveys the same meaning,—a pistol shot,—and the voice of Ramirez crying,—
“‘Caramba! the next fall would have killed him, and the dog should die only by my hand. There! I have paid the debt I owed thee,—thou knowest for what. It should have been paid thee like the other villain’s years ago. Would that I had dragged him at my horse’s rein as I have thee!’
“The man fell; a soldier, with a laugh, cut the rope; all swept on with shouts and laughter,—Ramirez the quietest among them. In a few minutes they were far up the gorge. One glance had satisfied Ramirez that his shot had reached its aim.
“None seemed to remember the panting wretch behind. I had reached the prostrate body as soon as he, and together we raised it up. Under the mask of bruises and blood and the dust of the roadway, I recognized the man I had been seeking,—Pedro Gomez.”
Pepé caught Chinita on his outstretched arm,—she had staggered as though struck by a heavy blow. Ashley sprang to her side in remorse,—he had spared her nothing in the recital; but she had not fainted. She raised herself slowly, and lifting her arms above her head, wrung her hands in speechless agony.