That night the travellers remained at a miserable hut, which served as an inn, feeling a certain protection in the presence of an aged priest, who chanced to be awaiting there an opportunity to proceed upon a long-interrupted journey; and upon the following morning he formed one of the travelling party. Beyond bestowing upon them his blessing, he said nothing to them,—although somewhat to her discomfort Doña Carmen noticed that he often turned an inquiring gaze upon them. Early in the afternoon the diligence stopped at a miserable village, the nearest point at which, in the interrupted arrangements of travel, it approached Las Parras; and having deposited Doña Isabel’s party and the priest, diverged toward the north.
Doña Isabel looked around her helplessly, saying, “It is nearly eight leagues to Las Parras. I have often been here,—I know the road well. We shall never reach there!”
“You will see, Mother, you will see,” answered Doña Carmen, cheerfully; and greatly to the astonishment of the priest and the women who stood near, she drew forth a half-dozen ounces of gold, and held them up. “See,” she said in her clear patrician voice, “you are good people here; we are not afraid to trust you,”—her quick eye had shown her there was not an able-bodied man in the almost ruinous place. “We are not so poor as we look, and I will give you all this for three, four—” she glanced at the priest—“horses, donkeys, or mules, be they ever so poor, upon which we can go our way.”
The women laughed stupidly, and looked at one another and then at the gold. Evidently if there was a beast of burden in the village it was securely hidden, and though the money tempted them they were afraid.
“No, no,” said one at length. “Three weeks ago the Señores Liberales drove off our last cow, and the week after the Señores Conservadores slaughtered the turkeys, and—”
“But we want neither cows nor turkeys,” interrupted Carmen, impatiently.
“Quite true; but the Señorita would have horses,” answered the matron imperturbably; “and yesterday the General Ramirez was here—”
She paused as though it were unnecessary to say more of the fate of their horses; and Doña Isabel, starting up impetuously, hurriedly questioned the assembled gossips. Upon the subject of the visit of Ramirez the villagers were eloquent. He and his followers had reached there spent with fatigue and long fasting. In a few moments the place had been sacked of all its poor provision; there had not been enough to give one poor ration to the half-dozen prisoners who were with them. They would have been shot—yes, upon the very spot upon which their graces were standing—but for the prayers of a young girl, who seemed to be the lieutenant’s wife; at least she was in his care,—and Ramirez had admitted it could be done as well at the next halt. She herself gave a drink of water to the poor lads for the love of God, and also a tortilla to one among them that she knew,—poor Pepé Ortiz; but he was too weak to swallow it, and had given it to another less wretched than he.
Chata began to cry softly, while Doña Isabel demanded a description of the young girl who had been of the party. This was vague enough; but insufficient as it was it made the thought of further delay impossible,—and the eloquence and gold of Doña Carmen, to which was added the authority of the priest, presently induced the villagers to produce four sorry beasts, upon which with some difficulty the party were secured, for no saddles or panniers were to be had. It was almost sunset when, following the old stage-road, the already wearied travellers set out upon their long and possibly perilous ride.
The women of the village stood for a long time with arms akimbo, looking after the departing travellers. They had divided the money among themselves,—they felt rich and could afford to be pitiful. “The poor Señora has perhaps lost a daughter,” said one—“doubtless the fair girl who rode with the lieutenant. The Holy Mother protect her, for the man was in two minds about taking her farther; but the Señor General swore he would run his sabre through him if he cast her off to starve in such a hole. To starve, eh! One who has never lived in my birthplace cannot know how well the pigs fatten here when the tunas are ripe.”