Diaz was no more, having carried with him to the tomb the secret of the wonderful valley—and Gayferos had followed his three liberators. What had become of these intrepid hunters who had willingly encountered fatigues, privations and dangers, instead of returning to civilised life? Were they as rich and powerful as they might have been? Had the desert claimed these three noble spirits, as it has done so many others? Like the monk, who seeks in the silence of cloister forgetfulness of the world’s vain show, had Fabian in the sublimity of solitude been able to forget the woman who loved him, and who secretly hoped for and expected his return?
What we are about to relate will answer these questions.
One sultry afternoon, two men, mounted and armed to the teeth, pursued the lonely road which leads from the utmost confines of the province of Sonora to the Presidio of Tubac. Their costume, the coarse equipment of their steeds, and the beauty of the latter, formed on the whole a striking contrast and seemed to indicate subalterns despatched by some rich proprietor, either to carry or to seek information.
The first was clothed in leather from head to foot, like the vaquero of some noble hacienda. The second, dark and bearded like a Moor, though less simply attired than his companion, did not appear to be of much greater consideration.
At the end of a journey of some days the white houses of the Presidio began to appear in the distance. The two cavaliers had probably exhausted every subject of conversation, for they trotted on in silence.
The scanty vegetation which covered the plains they were crossing was again becoming parched by the sun, after the winter rains; and the dry grass harboured innumerable grasshoppers whose shrill note was heard incessantly, mingled with the scorching breath of the south wind. The foliage of the Peruvian trees drooped languidly over the burning sand, like the willows upon the banks of a stream.
The two cavaliers arrived at the entrance of the Presidio just as the church clock sounded the evening angelus.
Tubac was then a village with two cross streets, its houses built of cement, with only a few windows in the front, as is the custom in places exposed to the sudden excursions of the Indians. Strong movable barriers, formed by trunks of trees, protected the four approaches to the village; and a piece of the artillery of the country, raised upon its carriage, was erected behind each of these barriers.
Previous to following the new-comers into the Presidio, we must relate an incident which, insignificant in itself, nevertheless acquired some importance in the heart of a solitary village of Tubac.
During the space of a fortnight a mysterious personage—inasmuch as he was unknown to the inhabitants of the Presidio—had frequently, and for a short time, appeared there. He was a man of about forty years of age, thin, but rough and vigorous in appearance, whose countenance seemed to tell of dangers overcome, but whose speech was as rare as his physiognomy was expressive. He replied shortly to any questions addressed to him; but, on the other hand, he asked a great many, and appeared particularly anxious to know what was passing at the Hacienda del Venado.