In a few minutes he was surrounded by a crowd of idlers, who, although it was Sunday, were heard a few moments after breaking out into loud acclamations of joy. Hats were uptossed and vivas rent the air!
What news had Gomez announced? A rare bit of news—the capture of the outlaw! It was true. Carlos had been taken, and was now a prisoner in the hands of the soldiers. He had been captured neither by strength nor stratagem. Treachery had done the work. He had been betrayed by one of his own people.
It was thus his capture had been effected. Despairing for the present of being able to communicate with Catalina, he had formed the resolution to remove his mother and sister from the valley. He had prepared a temporary home for them far off in the wilderness, where they would be secure from his enemies, while he himself could return at a better opportunity.
To effect their removal, watched as they were, he knew would be no easy matter. But he had taken his measures, and would have succeeded had it not been for treason. One of his own people—a peon who had accompanied him in his last expedition—betrayed him to his vigilant foes.
Carlos was within the rancho making a few hasty preparations for the journey. He had left his horse hidden some distance off in the chapparal. Unfortunately for him Cibolo was not there. The faithful dog had been laid up since his late encounter at the cave. To a peon had been assigned the duty that would otherwise have been intrusted to him—that of keeping watch without.
This wretch had been previously bought by Roblado and Vizcarra. The result was, that, instead of acting as sentinel for his master, he hastened to warn his enemies. The rancho was surrounded by a troop; and, although several of his assailants were killed by the hand of Carlos, he himself was finally overpowered and taken.
Gomez had not been five minutes in the Plaza when a bugle was heard sounding the advance of a troop, which the next moment defiled into the open square. Near its middle was the prisoner, securely tied upon the back of a saddle-mule, and guarded by a double file of troopers.
An arrival of such interest was soon known, and the Plaza became filled with a crowd eager to gratify its curiosity by a sight of the notorious cibolero.
But he was not the only one upon whom the people gazed with curiosity. There were two other prisoners—one of whom was regarded with an interest equal to that felt at the sight of the outlaw himself. This prisoner was his mother. Upon her the eyes of the multitude turned with an expression of awe mingled with indignation; while jeering and angry cries hailed her as she passed on her way to the Calabozo.
“Muera la hechicera! muera!” (Death to the witch—let her die!) broke from ruffian lips as she was carried along.