Graham's Magazine, Vol. XL, No. 3, March 1852

by Various

The sun had not yet climbed the hills on the east of the valley, when Harding set forth on his uncertain mission; and not one of the indolent people of the country was any where to be seen. The houses were all closed—no smoke issued from their rude chimneys—no sound or motion broke the stillness. Apart from its solitude, however, it was a beautiful scene. The haziness of the evening before was now gone—the valley was refreshed by the dew of the night; and the reviving influence of the cool morning seemed to have had its effect upon the inanimate as well as the animate. The slope of the hills on the north, where the first rays of the sun rested for hours before they touched the southern plateau, was dotted here and there by straggling goats, browsing listlessly upon the scanty vegetation; while lower down the valley and along the banks of the little river, numbers of cattle were either standing patiently around the inclosures or wandering slowly away toward the hills. The river, silvered by the morning light, wound thread-like down the valley toward the west, and was visible even to the turn of the mountain miles away, where it enters the labyrinth of ridges in the neighborhood of Parras. There were no waving fields of grain; but the hedges were all green and fresh; verdure was springing even at that season, where the ground had been cleared of its products; and the evergreen trees, and groves of oranges which dotted the land imparted an aspect of fertile beauty. The shadows of the rugged hills were traceable along the ground, so clearly that the line of separation could be followed through the fields—one-half in sunlight, half in shade—the former gradually encroaching on the latter. There were no birds to cheer the solitude with matin songs; but so peaceful was the scene that even their presence might have seemed unwelcome.

Harding gazed about him as he crossed the bridge as if in search of the road. There were two paths; one leading along the front of several ranchos, and apparently taking him directly to the point he wished to reach. The other led away to the left, sweeping round the fields and avoiding the houses, with the danger of meeting their inmates. It was the latter that the count directed him to take; but for some reason best known to himself he followed the first, without heeding De Marsiac’s hail, and soon found himself riding slowly between two straggling rows of neat cottages. There was no one astir, however, and he had ridden nearly the whole length of the avenue without seeing any signs of life—when, judging himself to be out of view of Embocadura, he turned his horse in among the elms, and sprang to the ground.

Throwing his bridle-rein over a limb, he first carefully examined his pistols, and then loosening his sword in the scabbard, stepped out from the cover and approached the nearest cottage. It was not until he had knocked several times that any answer was returned. Then, however, the door was suddenly swung open, and he was confronted by one of those specimens of Mexican youth, whose faces combine in so remarkable a degree, great beauty with an expression of wicked cunning. He was a boy—perhaps eighteen years of age, with a slender figure, but evidently very active, and unless an exception to his race, capable of enduring great fatigue and privation. His eyes were dark as night, small, and keen; his nose thin and straight, his lips rather pinched, but red and clearly cut. The rest of his features were appropriate to these, and his complexion was rather lighter than the general hue of his people. He held a lareat coiled in his hand, and his goat-skin shoes were armed at the heel with enormous spurs.

“Buenas dias, Señor,” said he, in a clear, sharp voice, stepping back at the same time, in mute invitation to Harding to enter.

The latter returned the salutation and asked—

“On whose lands are these ranchos?”

“On those of La Señora Eltorena,” answered the boy, promptly.

“How far is it to Anelo?” he inquired.

“Twelve leagues, sir.”

Harding reflected for a moment, and then beckoned the boy aside. The latter gazed at him inquiringly; but drawing the door to, followed him to the place where his horse was standing.