Майн Рид
The White Chief: A Legend of Northern Mexico
Chapter Thirty
At that moment upon the azotea a man was pacing to and fro. He was not a sentinel, though at opposite angles of the building two of these could be seen who carried carbines – their heads and shoulders just appearing above the crenated top of the battlement towers.
The man en promenade was an officer, and the part of the azotea upon which he moved was the roof of the officers’ quarter, separated from the rest by a wall of equal height with the parapet. It was, moreover, a sacred precinct – not to be disturbed by the tread of common troopers on ordinary occasions. It was the “quarterdeck” of the Presidio.
The officer was in full dress, though not on any duty; but a single glance at the style and cut of his uniform would convince any one that he was a “dandy soldier,” and loved to appear at all times in fine feathers. The gold-lace and bright-coloured broad-cloth seemed to affect him as his rich plumage does the peacock. Every now and again he paused in his promenade, glanced down at his lacquered boots, examined the tournure of his limbs, or feasted his eyes upon the jewels that studded his delicate white fingers.
He was no beauty withal nor hero either; but that did not prevent him from indulging in the fancy that he was both – a combination of Mars and Apollo.
He was a colonel in the Spanish army, however, and Comandante of the Presidio – for the promenader in question was Vizcarra himself.
Though satisfied with his own appearance, he was evidently not satisfied about something else. There was a cloud upon his features that not even the contemplation of the lacquered boots or lily-white hands could banish. Some disagreeable thought was pressing upon his mind, causing him at intervals to make fitful starts, and look nervously around him.
“Bah! ’twas but a dream!” he muttered to himself. “Why should I think of it? ’twas only a dream!”
His eyes were bent downward as he gave expression to these abrupt phrases, and as he raised them again chance guided his look in the direction of “La Niña Perdida.” No, it was not chance, for La Niña had figured in his dream, and his eyes were but following his thoughts.
The moment they rested on the cliff he started back as if some terrible spectre were before him, and mechanically caught hold of the parapet. His cheeks suddenly blanched, his jaws fell, and his chest heaved, in hurried and convulsive breathing!
What can cause these symptoms of strong emotion? Is it the sight of yonder horseman standing upon the very pinnacle of the bluff, and outlined against the pale sky? What is there in such an appearance to terrify the Comandante – for terrified he is? Hear him!
“My God! my God! – it is he! The form of his horse – of himself – just as he appeared – it is he! I fear to look at him! I cannot – ”
And the officer averted his face for a moment, covering it with his hands.
It was but a moment, and again he looked upwards. Not curiosity, but the fascination of fear, caused him to look again. The horseman had disappeared. Neither horse nor man – no object of any sort – broke the line of the bluffs!
“Surely I have been dreaming again?” muttered the still trembling caitiff. “Surely I have? There was no one there, least of all – . How could he? He is hundreds of miles off! It was an illusion! Ha! ha! ha! What the devil is the matter with my senses, I wonder? That horrid dream of last night has bewitched them! Carrambo! I’ll think no more of it?”
As he said this he resumed his pace more briskly, believing that that might rid him of his unpleasant reflections. At every turn, however, his eyes again sought the bluff, and swept along its edge with a glance that betokened fear. But they saw no more of the spectre horseman, and their owner began to feel at ease again.
A footstep was heard upon the stone steps of the “escalera.” Some one was ascending to the roof.
The next moment the head and shoulders of a man were visible; and Captain Roblado stepped out upon the azotea.
The “buenos dias” that passed between him and Vizcarra showed that it was their first meeting for that day. In fact, neither had been long up; for the hour was not yet too late for fashionable sleepers. Roblado had just breakfasted, and come out on the azotea to enjoy his Havannah.
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed he, as he lighted the cigar, “what a droll masquerade it has been! ’Pon my soul! I can scarce get the paint off; and my voice, after such yelling, won’t recover for a week! Ha! ha! Never was maiden wooed and won in such a romantic, roundabout way. Shepherds attacked – sheep driven off and scattered to the winds – cattle carried away and killed in regular battue– old woman knocked over, and rancho given to the flames – besides three days of marching and countermarching, travestying Indian, and whooping till one is hoarse; and all this trouble for a poor paisana– daughter of a reputed witch! Ha! ha! ha! It would read like a chapter in some Eastern romance – Aladdin, for instance – only that the maiden was not rescued by some process of magic or knight-errantry. Ha! ha ha!”
This speech of Roblado will disclose what is, perhaps, guessed at already – that the late incursion of “los barbaros” was neither more nor less than an affair got up by Vizcarra and himself to cover the abduction of the cibolero’s sister. The Indians who had harried the sheep and cattle – who had attacked the hacienda of Don Juan – who had fired the rancho and carried off Rosita – were Colonel Vizcarra, his officer Captain Roblado, his sergeant Gomez, and a soldier named José – another minion of his confidence and will.
There were but the four, as that number was deemed sufficient for the accomplishment of the atrocious deed; and rumour, backed by fear, gave them the strength of four hundred. Besides, the fewer in the secret the better. This was the prudence or cunning of Roblado.
Most cunningly, too, had they taken their measures. The game, from beginning to end, was played with design and execution worthy of a better cause. The shepherds were first attacked on the upper plain, to give certainty to the report that hostile Indians were near. The scouting-parties were sent out from the Presidio, and proclamations issued to the inhabitants to be on their guard – all for effect; and the further swoop upon the cattle was clear proof of the presence of “los barbaros” in the valley. In this foray the fiendish masquers took an opportunity of “killing two birds with one stone;” for, in addition to carrying out their general design, they gratified the mean revenge which they held against the young ranchero.
Their slaughtering his cattle in the ravine had a double object. First, the loss it would be to him gave them satisfaction; but their principal motive was that the animals might not stray back to the settlement. Had they done so, after having been captured by Indians, it would have looked suspicious. As it was, they hoped that, long before any one should discover the battue, the wolves and buzzard would do their work; and the bones would only supply food for conjecture. This was the more probable, as it was not likely, while the Indian alarm lasted, that any one would be bold enough to venture that way. There was no settlement or road, except Indian trails, leading in that direction.
Even when the final step was taken, and the victim carried off, she was not brought directly to the Presidio; for even she was to be hoodwinked. On the contrary, she was tied upon a mule, led by one of the ruffians, and permitted to see the way they were going, until they had reached the point where their trail turned back. She was then blinded by a leathern “tapado,” and in that state carried to the Presidio, and within its walls – utterly ignorant of the distance she had travelled, and the place where she was finally permitted to rest.
Every act in the diabolical drama was conceived with astuteness, and enacted with a precision which must do credit to the head of Captain Roblado, if not to his heart. He was the principal actor in the whole affair.
Vizcarra had, at first, some scruples about the affair – not on the score of conscience, but of impracticability and fear of detection. This would indeed have done him a serious injury. The discovery of such a villainous scheme would have spread like wildfire over the whole country. It would have been ruin to him.
Roblado’s eloquence, combined with his own vile desires, overruled the slight opposition of his superior; and, once entered on the affair, the latter found himself highly amused in carrying it out. The burlesque proclamations, the exaggerated stories of Indians, the terror of the citizens, their encomiums on his own energetic and valorous conduct – all these were a pleasant relief to the ennui of a barrack life and, during the several days’ visit of “los barbaros,” the Comandante and his captain were never without a theme for mirth and laughter.
So adroitly had they managed the whole matter that, upon the morning after the final coup of the robbers – the abduction of Rosita – there was not a soul in the settlement, themselves and their two aides excepted, that had the slightest suspicion but that real hostile Indians were the actors!
Yes, there was one other who had a suspicion – only a suspicion – Rosita’s mother. Even the girl believed herself in the hands of Indians —if belief she had.
Chapter Thirty One
“Ha! ha! ha! A capital joke, by my honour!” continued Roblado, laughing as he puffed his cigar. “It’s the only piece of fun I’ve enjoyed since we came to this stupid place. Even in a frontier post I find that one may have a little amusement if he know how to make it. Ha! ha! ha! After all, there was a devilish deal of trouble. But come, tell me, my dear Comandante – for you know by this time – in confidence, was it worth the trouble?”
“I am sorry we have taken it,” was the reply, delivered in a serious tone.
Roblado looked straight in the other’s face, and now for the first time noticed its gloomy expression. Busied with his cigar, he had not observed this before.
“Hola!” exclaimed he; “what’s the matter, my colonel? This is not the look a man should wear who has spent the last twelve hours as pleasantly as you must have done. Something amiss?”
“Everything amiss.”
“Pray what? Surely you were with her?”
“But a moment, and that was enough.”
“Explain, my dear colonel.”
“She is mad!”
“Mad!”
“Having mad! Her talk terrified me. I was but too glad to come away, and leave her to the care of José, who waits upon her. I could not bear to listen to her strange jabberings. I assure you, camarado, it robbed me of all desire to remain.”
“Oh,” said Roblado, “that’s nothing – she’ll get over it in a day or so. She still thinks herself in the hands of the savages who are going to murder and scalp her! It may be as well for you to undeceive her of this as soon as she comes to her senses. I don’t see any harm in letting her know. You must do so in the end, and the sooner the better – you will have the longer time to get her reconciled to it. Now that you have her snug within earless and eyeless walls, you can manage the thing at your leisure. No one suspects – no one can suspect. They are full of the Indians to-day – ha! ha! ha! and ’tis said her inamorato, Don Juan, talks of getting up a party to pursue them! Ha! ha! He’ll not do that – the fellow hasn’t influence enough, and nobody cares either about his cattle or the witch’s daughter. Had it been some one else the case might have been different. As it is, there’s no fear of discovery, even were the cibolero himself to make his appearance – ”
“Roblado!” cried the Comandante, interrupting him, and speaking in a deep earnest voice.
“Well?” inquired the captain, regarding Vizcarra with astonishment.
“I have had a dream – a fearful dream; and that – not the ravings of the girl – it is that is now troubling me. Diablos! a fearful dream!”
“You, Comandante – a valiant soldier – to let a silly dream trouble you! But come! what was it? I’m a good interpreter of dreams. I warrant I read it to your bettor satisfaction.”
“Simple enough it is, then. I thought myself upon the cliff of La Niña. I thought that I was alone with Carlos the cibolero! I thought that he knew all, and that he had brought me there to punish me – to avenge her. I had no power to resist, but was led forward to the brink. I thought that we closed and struggled for a while; but at length I was shaken from his grasp, and pushed over the precipice! I felt myself falling – falling! I could see above me the cibolero, with his sister by his side, and on the extremest point the hideous witch their mother, who laughed a wild maniac laugh, and clapped her long bony hands! I felt myself falling – falling – yet still not reaching the ground; and this horrible feeling continued for a long, long time – in fact, until the fearful thought awoke me. Even then I could scarce believe I had been dreaming, so palpable was the impression that remained. Oh, comrade, it was a dreadful dream!”
“And but a dream; and what signifies – ”
“Stay, Roblado! I have not told you all. Within the hour – ay, within the quarter of that time – while I was on this spot thinking over it, I chanced to look up to the cliff; and yonder, upon the extreme point, was a horseman clearly outlined against the sky – and that horseman the very image of the cibolero! I noted the horse and the seat of the rider, which I well remember. I could not trust my eyes to look at him. I averted them for a moment – only a moment; and when I looked again he was gone! So quickly had he retired, that I was inclined to think it was only a fancy – that there had been none – and that my dream had produced the illusion!”
“That is likely enough,” said Roblado, desirous of comforting his companion; “likely enough – nothing more natural. In the first place, from where we stand to the top of La Niña is a good five thousand varas as the crow flies; and for you, at that distance, to distinguish Carlos the cibolero from any other horseman is a plain impossibility. In the second place, Carlos the cibolero is at this moment full five hundred miles from the tip of my cigar, risking his precious carcase for a cartload of stinking hides and a few bultos of dried buffalo-beef. Let us hope that some of his copper-coloured friends will raise his hay-coloured hair, which some of our poblanas so much admire. And now, my dear Comandante, as to your dream, that is as natural as may be. It could hardly be otherwise than that you should have such a dream. The remembrance of the cibolero’s feat of horsemanship on that very cliff, and the later affair with the sister, together with the suspicion you may naturally entertain that Señor Carlos wouldn’t be too kind to you if he knew all and had you in his power – all these things, being in your thoughts at one time, must come together incongruously in a dream. The old woman, too – if she wasn’t in your thoughts, she has been in mine ever since I gave her that knock in the doorway. Who could forget such a picture as she then presented? Ha! ha! ha!”
The brutal villain laughed – not so much from any ludicrous recollection, as to make the whole thing appear light and trivial in the eyes of his companion.
“What does it all amount to?” he continued. “A dream! a simple, everyday dream! Come, my dear friend, don’t let it remain on your mind for another instant!”
“I cannot help it, Roblado. It clings to me like my shadow. It feels like a presentiment. I wish I had left this paisana in her mud hut. By Heaven! I wish she were back there. I shall not be myself till I have got rid of her. I seem to loathe as much as I loved the jabbering idiot.”
“Tut, tut, man! you’ll soon change your way of thinking – you’ll soon take a fresh liking – ”
“No, Roblado, no! I’m disgusted – I can’t tell why but I am. Would to God she were off my hands!”
“Oh! that’s easy enough, and without hurting anybody. She can go the way she came. It will only be another scene in the masquerade, and no one will be the wiser. If you are really in earnest – ”
“Roblado!” cried the Comandante, grasping his captain by the arm, “I never was more in earnest in my life. Tell me the plan to get her back without making a noise about it. Tell me quick, for I cannot bear this horrid feeling any longer.”
“Why, then,” began Roblado, “we must have another travestie of Indians – we must – ”
He was suddenly interrupted. A short, sharp groan escaped from Vizcarra. His eyes looked as though about to start from his head. His lips grow white, and the perspiration leaped into drops on his forehead!
What could it mean? Vizcarra stood by the outer edge of the azotea that commanded a view of the road leading up to the gate of the Presidio. He was gazing over the parapet, and pointing with outstretched arm.
Roblado was farther back, near the centre of the azotea. He sprang forward, and looked in the direction indicated. A horseman, covered with sweat and dust, was galloping up the road. He was near enough for Roblado to distinguish his features. Vizcarra had already distinguished them. It was Carlos the cibolero!
Chapter Thirty Two
The announcement made by the cibolero on the bluff startled Don Juan, as if a shot had passed through him. Up to this time the simple ranchero had no thought but that they were on the trail of Indians. Even the singular fact of the trail leading back to the valley had not undeceived him. He supposed the Indians had made some other and later foray in that quarter, and that they would hear of them as soon as they should descend the cliffs.
When Carlos pointed to the Presidio, and said, “She is there!” he received the announcement at first with surprise, then with incredulity.
Another word from the cibolero, and a few moments’ reflection, and his incredulity vanished. The terrible truth flashed upon his mind, for he, too, remembered the conduct of Vizcarra on the day of the fiesta. His visit to the rancho and other circumstances now rushed before him, aiding the conviction that Carlos spoke the truth.
For some moments the lover could scarce give utterance to his thoughts, so painful were they. More painful than ever! Even while under the belief that his mistress was in the hands of wild Indians he suffered less. There was still some hope that, by their strange code in relation to female captives, she might escape that dreaded fate, until he and Carlos might come up and rescue her. But now the time that had elapsed – Vizcarra’s character – O God! it was a terrible thought; and the young man reeled in his saddle as it crossed his mind.
He rode back a few paces, flung himself from his horse, and staggered to the ground in the bitterness of his anguish.
Carlos remained on the bluff, still gazing down on the Presidio. He seemed to be maturing some plan. He could see the sentries on the battlements, the troopers lounging around the walls in their dark blue and crimson uniforms. He could even hear the call of the cavalry bugle, as its clear echoes came dancing along the cliffs. He could see the figure of a man – an officer – pacing to and fro on the azotea, and he could perceive that the latter had halted, and was observing him.
It was at this very moment that Vizcarra had caught sight of the horseman on the bluff – the sight that had so terrified him, and which indeed was no illusion.
“Can it be that fiend himself?” thought Carlos, regarding the officer for a moment. “Quite likely it is he. Oh! that he were within range of my rifle! Patience – patience! I will yet have my revenge!”
And as the speaker muttered these words, he reined back from the bluff and rejoined his companion.
A consultation was now held as to what would be the best mode of proceeding. Antonio was called to their council, and to him Carlos declared his belief that his sister was a captive within the Presidio. It was telling Antonio what he had already divined. The mestizo had been to the fiesta as well as his master, and his keen eyes had been busy on that day. He, too, had observed the conduct of Vizcarra; and long before their halt he had arrived at an elucidation of the many mysteries that marked the late Indian incursion. He knew all – his master might have saved words in telling him.
Neither words nor time were wasted. The hearts of both brother and lover were beating too hurriedly for that. Perhaps at that moment the object of their affection was in peril, – perhaps struggling with her ruffian abductor! Their timely arrival might save her!
These considerations took precedence of all plans; in fact, there was no plan they could adopt, to remain concealed – to skulk about the place – to wait for opportunity – what opportunity? They might spend days in fruitless waiting. Days! – hours – even minutes would be too long. Not a moment was to be lost before some action must be taken.
And what action? They could think of none – none but open action. What! dare a man not claim his own sister? Demand her restoration?
But the thought of refusal – the thought of subterfuge – in fact, the certainty that such would be the result – quite terrified them both.
And yet how else could they act? They would at least give publicity to the atrocious deed; that might serve them. There would be sympathy in their favour – perhaps more. Perhaps the people, slaves as they were, might surround the Presidio, and clamour loudly; – in some way the captive might be rescued. Such were their hurried reflections.
“If not rescued,” said Carlos, grinding his teeth together, “she shall be revenged. Though the garrota press my throat, he shall not live if she be dishonoured. I swear it!”
“I echo the oath!” cried Don Juan, grasping the hilt of his machete.
“Masters! dear masters!” said Antonio, “you both know I am not a coward. I shall aid you with my arm or my life; but it is a terrible business. Let us have caution, or we fail. Let us be prudent!”
“True, we must be prudent. I have already promised that to my mother; but how, comrades? – how! In what does prudence consist? – to wait and watch, while she – oh!”
All three were silent for a while. None of them could think of a feasible plan to be pursued.
The situation was, indeed, a most difficult one. There was the Presidio, and within its walls – perhaps in some dark chamber – the cibolero well knew his sister was a captive; but under such peculiar circumstances that her release would be a most difficult enterprise.
In the first place, the villain who held her would assuredly deny that she was there. To have released her would be an acknowledgment of his guilt. What proof of it could Carlos give? The soldiers of the garrison, no doubt, were ignorant of the whole transaction – with the exception of the two or three miscreants who had acted as aides. Were the cibolero to assert such a thing in the town he would be laughed at – no doubt arrested and punished. Even could he offer proofs, what authority was there to help him to justice? The military was the law of the place, and the little show of civic authority that existed would be more disposed to take sides against him than in his favour. He could expect no justice from any quarter. All the proof of his accusation would rest only on such facts as would neither be understood nor regarded by those to whom he might appeal. The return trail would be easily accounted for by Vizcarra – if he should deign to take so much trouble – and the accusation of Carlos would be scouted as the fancy of a madman. No one would give credence to it. The very atrociousness of the deed rendered it incredible!
Carlos and his companions were aware of all these things. They had no hope of help from any quarter. There was no authority that could give them aid or redress.
The cibolero, who had remained for a while silent and thoughtful, at length spoke out. His tone was altered. He seemed to have conceived some plan that held out a hope.
“Comrades!” he said, “I can think of nothing but an open demand, and that must be made within the hour. I cannot live another hour without attempting her rescue – another hour, and what we dread – No! within the hour it must be. I have formed a sort of plan – it may not be the most prudent – but there is no time for reflection. Hear it.”
“Go on!”
“It will be of no use our appearing before the gate of the Presidio in full force. There are hundreds of soldiers within the walls, and our twenty Tagnos, though brave as lions, would be of no service in such an unequal fight. I shall go alone.”
“Alone?”
“Yes; I trust to chance for an interview with him. If I can get that, it is all I want. He is her gaoler; and when the gaoler sleeps, the captive may be freed. He shall sleep then.”
The last words were uttered in a significant tone, while the speaker placed his hand mechanically upon the handle of a large knife that was stuck in his waist-belt.
“He shall sleep then!” he repeated; “and soon, if Fate favours me. For the rest I care not: I am too desperate. If she be dishonoured I care not to live, but I shall have full revenge!”
“But how will you obtain an interview?” suggested Don Juan. “He will not give you one. Would it not be better to disguise yourself? There would be more chance of seeing him that way?”
“No! I am not easily disguised, with my light hair and skin. Besides, it would cost too much time. Trust me, I will not be rash. I have a plan by which I hope to get near him – to see him, at all events. If it fail, I intend to make no demonstration for the present. None of the wretches shall know my real errand. Afterwards I may do as you advise, but now I cannot wait. I must on to the work. I believe it is he that is at this moment pacing yonder azotea, and that is why I cannot wait, Don Juan. If it be me – ”
“But what shall we do?” asked Don Juan. “Can we not assist in any way?”
“Yes, perhaps in my escape. Come on, I shall place you. Come on quickly. Moments are days. My brain’s on fire. Come on!”
So saying, the cibolero leaped into his saddle and struck rapidly down the precipitous path that led to the valley.
From the point where the road touched the valley bottom, for more than a mile in the direction of the Presidio, it ran through a thick growth of low trees and bushes forming a “chapparal,” difficult to pass through, except by following the road itself.
But there were several cattle-paths through the thicket, by which it might be traversed; and these were known to Antonio the half-blood, who had formerly lived in this neighbourhood. By one of those a party of mounted men might approach within half-a-mile of the Presidio without attracting the observation of the sentries upon the walls. To this point, then, Antonio was directed to guide the party; and in due time they arrived near the edge of the jungle, where, at the command of Carlos, all dismounted keeping themselves and their horses under cover of the bushes.
“Now,” said the cibolero, speaking to Don Juan, “remain here. If I escape, I shall gallop direct to this point. If I lose my horse, you shall see me afoot all the same. For such a short stretch I can run like a deer: I shall not be overtaken. When I return I shall tell you how to act.
“See! Don Juan!” he continued, grasping the ranchero by the arm, and drawing him forward to the edge of the chapparal. “It is he! by Heaven, it is he!”
Carlos pointed to the azotea of the Presidio, where the head and shoulders of a man were seen above the line of the parapet.
“It is the Comandante himself!” said Don Juan, also recognising him.
“Enough! I have no time for more talk,” cried the cibolero. “Now or never! If I return, you shall know what to do. If not, I am taken or killed. But stay here. Stay till late in the night; I may still escape. Their prisons are not too strong; besides, I carry this gold. It may help me. No more. Adios! true friend, adios!”
With a grasp of the ranchero’s hand, Carlos leaped back to his saddle, and rode off.
He did not go in the direction of the Presidio, as that would have discovered him too soon. But a path that led through the chapparal would bring him out on the main road that ran up to the front gate, and this path he took. Antonio guided him to the edge of the timber, and then returned to the rest.
Carlos, once on the road, spurred his horse into gallop, and dashed boldly forward to the great gate of the Presidio. The dog Cibolo followed, keeping close up to the heels of his horse.
