“Seem! So it is, por cierto. And looking for them there would be so much lost time. Around your native city, New Orleans, there are swamps where the runaway slave manages to hide himself. He’d have a better chance of concealment here, among rocks, in that same quarter you’ve just come from. It’s a very labyrinth. But what did you afterwards? You may as well complete your narrative.”
“There is not much more to tell, Sire; for little more could we do. The darkness came on, as we discovered they had taken to the rocks.”
“You did discover that?”
“Yes, your Excellency. We found the place where they had gone up over a sort of cliff. There were scratches made by their feet, with a branch broken off one of the cactus plants; some of the sewer mud, too, was on the rock. But there was no path, and I saw it would be useless carrying the pursuit any further till we should have the light of morning. I’ve taken every precaution, however, to prevent their getting out of the Pedregal.”
“What precautions?”
“By completely enfilading it, Sire. I sent the Lancers round by San Geromino and Contreras; the Hussars to go in the opposite direction by San Augustin. They have orders to drop a picket at every path that leads from it, till they meet on the other side.”
“Well, Señor Colonel, your strategy is good. I don’t see that you could have done better under the circumstances. But it’s doubtful whether we shall be able to trap our foxes in the Pedregal. One of them knows its paths too well to let night or darkness hinder his travelling along them. He’ll be through it before your pickets can get to their stations. Yes; and off to a hiding-place he has elsewhere—a safer one—somewhere in the Sierras. Confound those Sierras with their caverns and forests. They’re full of my enemies, rebels, and robbers. But I’ll have them rooted out, hanged, shot, till I clear the country of disaffection. Carajo! I shall be master of Mexico, not only in name, but deeds. Emperor in reality!”
Excited by the thought of unrestrained rule and dreams of vengeance—sweet to the despot as blood to the tiger—he sprang out of his chair, and paced to and fro, gesticulating in a violent manner.
“Yes, Señor Colonel!” he continued in tone satisfied as triumphant. “Other matters have hindered me from looking after these skulking proscripts. But our victory over the Tejanos has given me the power now, and I intend using it. These men must be recaptured at all cost—if it take my whole army to do it. To you, Don Carlos Santander, I entrust the task—its whole management. You have my authority to requisition troops, and spend whatever money may be needed to ensure success. And,” he added, stepping close to his subordinate, and speaking in a confidential way, “if you can bring me back Ruperto Rivas, or his head so that I can recognise it, I shall thank you not as Colonel, but as General Santander.”
The expression upon his face as he said this was truly Satanic. Equally so that on his to whom the horrid hint was given. Alike cruel in their instincts, with aims closely corresponding, it would be strange if the fugitive prisoners were not retaken.