Майн Рид
The White Chief: A Legend of Northern Mexico
Chapter Thirty Five
Garcia was dead. Vizcarra was not, though, when taken up from where he had fallen, he looked like one who had not long to live, and behaved like one who was afraid to die. His face was covered with blood, and his cheek showed the scar of a shot. He was alive however, – moaning and mumbling. Fine talking was out of the question, for several of his teeth had been carried away by the bullet.
His wound was a mere face wound. There was not the slightest danger; but the “medico” of the place, a young practitioner, was not sufficiently master of his art to give him that assurance, and for some hours Vizcarra remained in anything but blissful ignorance of his fate.
The garrison doctor had died but a short time before, and his place was not yet supplied.
A scene of excitement for the rest of that day was the Presidio – not less so the town. The whole settlement was roused by the astounding news, which spread like a prairie fire throughout the length and breadth of the valley.
It travelled in two different shapes. One was, that the settlement was surrounded by “los barbaros,” headed by Carlos the cibolero; that they must be in great numbers, since they had made an open attack upon the military stronghold itself; but that they had been beaten off by the valiant soldiers after a desperate conflict, in which many were killed on both sides; that the officers were all killed, including the Comandante; and that another attack might be looked for that night, which would most likely be directed against the town! This was the first shape of the “novedades.”
Another rumour had it that the “Indios mansos” had revolted; that they were headed by Carlos the cibolero; that they had made an unsuccessful attempt upon the Presidio, in which, as before, the valiant soldiers had repulsed them with great loss on both sides, including the Comandante and his officers: that this was but the first outbreak of a great conspiracy, which extended to all the Tagnos of the settlement, and that no doubt the attack would be renewed that night!
To those who reflected, both forms of the rumour were incomprehensible. Why should “Indios bravos” attack the Presidio before proceeding against the more defenceless town as well as the several rich haciendas? And how could Carlos the cibolero be their leader? Why should he of all men, – he who had just suffered at the hands of the savages? It was well-known through the settlement that it was the cibolero’s sister who had been carried off. The idea of an Indian incursion, with him at the head of it, seemed too improbable.
Then, again, as to the conspiracy and revolt. Why the tame Indians were seen labouring quietly in the fields, and those belonging to the mission were working at their usual occupations! News, too, had come down from the mines – no symptoms of conspiracy had been observed there! A revolt of the Tagnos, with the cibolero at their head, would, of the two rumours, have been the more likely to be true; for it was well-known to all that these were far from content with their lot – but at present there was no appearance of such a thing around. There were they all at their ordinary employments. Who, then, were the revolters? Both rumours, therefore, were highly improbable.
Half the town-people were soon gathered around the Presidio, and after stories of all shapes had been carried back and forward, the definite facts at length became known.
These, however, were as mysterious and puzzling as the rumours. For what reason could the cibolero have attacked the officers of the garrison? Who were the Indians that accompanied him? Were they “bravos” or “mansos”? – savages or rebels?
The most remarkable thing was, that the soldiers themselves who had taken part in the imaginary “fight” could not answer these questions. Some said this, and some that. Many had heard the conversation between Carlos and the officers; but that portion of the affair, though perfectly natural in itself when taken in connexion with after circumstances, only rendered the whole more complicated and mysterious! The soldiers could give no explanation; and the people returned home, to canvass and discuss the affair among themselves. Various versions were in vogue. Some believed that the cibolero had come with the bona fide desire to obtain help against the Indians – that those who accompanied him were only a few Tagnos whom he had collected to aid in the pursuit – and that the Comandante, having first promised to aid him, had afterwards refused, and that this had led to the strange conduct of the cibolero!
There was another hypothesis that gained more credit than this. It was that Captain Roblado was the man whom the cibolero had desired to make a victim; that he was guided against him by motives of jealousy; for the conduct of Carlos on the day of the fiesta was well-known, and had been much ridiculed – that, in failing to reach Roblado, he had quarrelled with the Comandante, and so forth.
Improbable as was this conjecture, it had many supporters, in the absence of the true motive for the conduct of the cibolero. There were but four men within the Presidio to whom this was known, and only three outside of it. By the general public it was not even suspected.
In one thing all agreed – in condemning Carlos the cibolero. The garotta was too good for him; and when taken, they could all promise him ample punishment. The very ingratitude of the act was magnified. It was but the day before that these same officers had gone forth with their valiant soldiers to do him a service! The man must have been mad! His mother had no doubt bewitched him.
To have killed Lieutenant Garcia! – he who was such a favourite! Carrambo!
This was true. Garcia was liked by the people of the settlement – perhaps not so much from the possession of any peculiar virtues, but in contrast with his superiors. He was an affable, harmless sort of person, and had won general esteem.
That night the cibolero had not one friend in San Ildefonso. Nay, we speak wrongly. He had one. There was one heart beating for him as fondly as ever – Catalina’s – but she, too, was ignorant of the motives which had led to his mysterious conduct.
Whatever these motives were, she knew they could not be otherwise than just. What to her were the calumnies – the gibes – that were heaped upon him? What to her if he had taken the life of a fellow-creature? He had not done so without good cause – without some fearful provocation. She believed that in her soul. She knew his noble nature too well to think otherwise. He was the lord of her heart, and could do no wrong!
Sorrowful, heart-breaking news was it to her. It boded long separation – perhaps for ever! He dared no more visit the town – not even the settlement! He would be driven to the wild plains – hunted like the wolf or the savage bison – perhaps taken and slain! Bitter were her reflections. When should she see him again? Maybe, never!
Chapter Thirty Six
During all this time Vizcarra lay groaning upon his couch – not so much with pain as fear, for the fear of death still haunted him. But for that, his rage would have been boundless; but this passion was in abeyance – eclipsed by the terrors that flitted across his conscience.
Even had he been assured of recovery he would still have been in dread. His imagination was diseased by his dream and the after reality. Even surrounded by his soldiers, he feared the cibolero, who appeared able to accomplish any deed and escape its consequences. He did not even feel secure there in his chamber, with guards at the entrance, against that avenging arm!
Now, more than ever, he was desirous of getting rid of the cause – more than ever anxious that she should be got rid of; but he reflected that now more than ever was that a delicate and difficult matter. It would undoubtedly get abroad why the cibolero had made such a desperate attempt upon his life – it would spread until it reached high quarters – such a report could not be passed over – an investigation might be ordered; and that, unless he could destroy every trace of suspicion, might be his ruin.
These were his reflections while in the belief that he was going to recover; when a doubt of this crossed his mind, he grew still more anxious about the result.
Roblado had hinted at a way in which all might be arranged. He waited with impatience for the latter to make his appearance. The warlike captain was still engaged in beating the chapparal; but Gomez had come in and reported that he was about to give up the search, and return to the Presidio.
To Roblado the occurrences of the day had been rather pleasant than otherwise; and a close observer of his conduct could have told this. If there was anything in the whole business that really annoyed him, it was the wound of the Comandante – it was exasperating! Roblado, more experienced than the surgeon, knew this well. The friendship that existed between the two was a fellow-feeling in wickedness – a sort of felon’s bond – durable enough so long as there was no benefit to either in breaking it. But this friendship did not prevent Roblado from regretting with all his heart that the bullet had not hit his friend a little higher up or a little lower down – either in the skull or the throat! He entertained this regret from no malice or ill-will towards the Comandante, but simply from a desire to benefit himself. It was long since Roblado had been dreaming of promotion. He was not too humble to hope he might one day command the Presidio himself. Vizcarra’s death would have given him that station at once; but Vizcarra was not to die just then, and this knowledge somewhat clouded the joy he was then experiencing.
And it was joy. Garcia and he had been enemies. There had been jealousy and ill-will between them for long; therefore the lieutenant’s death was no source of regret to him. But the joy of Roblado owed partly its origin to another consequence of that day’s drama – one that affected him more than any – one that was nearest his heart and his hopes.
Absurd as appeared the pretensions of the cibolero in regard to Catalina, Roblado had learned enough of late to make him jealous – ay, even to give him real uneasiness. She was a strange creature, Catalina de Cruces – one who had shown proofs of a rare spirit – one not to be bought and sold like a bulto of goods. She had taught both her father and Roblado a lesson of late. She had taught them that. She had struck the ground with her little foot, and threatened a convent – the grave – if too rudely pressed! She had not rejected Roblado – that is, in word; but she insisted on having her own time to make answer; and Don Ambrosio was compelled to concede the point.
Under such circumstances her suitor felt uneasy. Not so much that he was jealous – though he did love her after his own fashion, and was piqued at the thought of such a rival – but he feared that spirit of hers, and dreaded that her splendid fortune might yet escape him. Such a woman was capable of the wildest resolve. She might take to a convent; or maybe to the plains with this base-born cibolero! Such an event in the life of such a woman would be neither impossible nor unlikely. In either case she could not take her fortune with her; but what mattered? it would not remain with him, Roblado.
The conduct of the cibolero had removed all obstacles, so far as he was concerned. There was no longer any dread of rivalry from that source. His life was now forfeited. Not only would he be cut off from all communication with her, but he would not dare to show himself in the settlement. A constant vigilance would be kept on foot to guard against that, and Roblado even promised himself the enjoyment of rare sport in hunting down his rival, and becoming at the same time his captor and executioner.
These were the ideas that crossed the mind of the savage captain, and that made him feel satisfied at the events of the day.
After scouring the chapparal, and following the track of the supposed Indians to the ceja of the table plain, he returned with his men to the Presidio, to make preparations for a more prolonged pursuit.
Chapter Thirty Seven
Roblado’s arrival brought relief to Vizcarra, as he lay chafing and fretting.
Their conversation was, of course, upon the late occurrence, and Roblado gave his account of the pursuit.
“And do you really think,” inquired the Comandante, “that the fellow had a party of savages with him?”
“No!” answered Roblado. “I did think so at first – that is, the men thought so, and I was deceived by their reports. I am now convinced they were not Indian bravos, but some of those Tagno friends of his: for it appears the padré was right – he had a suspicious connexion. That of itself might have been sufficient cause for us to have arrested him long ago; but now we need no cause. He is ours, when we can catch him.”
“How do you propose to act?”
“Why, I have no doubt he will lead us a long chase. We must do the best we can to follow his trail. I came back to provision the men so that we can keep on for a sufficient time. The rascals have gone out of the valley by the upper pass, and perhaps have taken to the mountains. So thinks Gomez. We shall have to follow, and endeavour to overtake them. We must send express to the other settlements, so that the cibolero may be captured if he make his appearance in any of them. I don’t think he will attempt that.”
“Why?”
“Why! because it appears the old witch is still alive! and, moreover, he will hang around here so long as he has any hopes of recovering the sister.”
“Ha! you are right; he will do so. He will never leave me till she – ”
“So much the better; we shall have all the finer opportunity of laying hands on him, which, believe me, my dear colonel, will be no easy matter. The fellow will be watchful as a wolf, and on that superb horse of his can escape from our whole troop. We’ll have to capture him by some stratagem.”
“Can you think of none?”
“I have been thinking of one.”
“What?”
“Why, it is simply this – in the first place, for the reasons I have given, the fellow will hang around the settlement. He may visit now and then the old hechicera, but not often. The other would be a better decoy.”
“You mean her?” Vizcarra indicated the direction of the room in which Rosita was confined.
“I do. He is said to be foolishly fond of this sister. Now, were she in a place where he could visit her, I’ll warrant he would come there; and then we could trap him at our pleasure.”
“In a place! – where?” eagerly demanded Vizcarra.
“Why, back to her own neighbourhood. They’ll find some residence. If you will consent to let her go for a while, you can easily recover her —the more easily when we have settled with him!”
“Consent, Roblado! – it is the very thing I desire above all things. My mind will not be easy while she is here. We are both in danger if such a report should get in circulation. If it should reach certain ears, we are ruined – are we not?”
“Why, now there is some truth in what you say, Garcia’s death must be reported, and the cause will be inquired into. We must have our story as plausible as it can be made. There must be no colour of a suspicion – no rumour! It will be well to get her off our hands for the present.”
“But how – that it is that troubles me – how, without increasing the chances of suspicion? If we send her home, how is it to be explained? That would not be the act of Indians? You said you had some plan?”
“I think I have. But first tell me, colonel, what did you mean by saying she was mad?”
“That she was so; is so still, – so says José, – within the hour, muttering strange incongruities – knows not what is said to her. I tell you, Roblado, it terrified me.”
“You are sure she knows not what is said to her?”
“Sure of it.”
“So much the better. She will then not remember where she is or has been. Now I know that I have a plan – nothing easier than to get her off. She shall go back and tell – if she can tell anything – that she has been in the hands of the Indians! That will satisfy you?”
“But how can it be arranged?”
“My dear Comandante, no difficulty in it. Listen! To-night, or before day in the morning, Gomez and José, in Indian costume as before, can carry her off to some spot which I shall indicate. In the mountains be it. No matter how far off or how near. She may be tied, and found in their company in the morning in such a way as to appear their captive. So much the better if she has recovered her senses enough to think so. Well; I with the troopers, in hunt after the cibolero, will come upon these Indians by accident. A few shots may be fired at sufficient distance to do them no hurt. They will make off, leaving their captive, whom we will rescue and bring back to the town, where she can be delivered out of our hands! Ha! ha! ha! What think you, Comandante, of my scheme?”
“Excellent!” replied Vizcarra, his mind seemingly relieved at the prospect of its execution.
“Why, it would blind the very devil! We shall not only be free from suspicion, but we’ll get credit by it. What! a successful affair with the savages! – rescue of a female captive! – restore her to her friends! – she, too, the sister of the very man who has endeavoured to assassinate you! I tell you, Comandante, the cibolero himself, if that will be any comfort to you, will be humbugged by it! She will swear —if her word be worth anything– that she has been in the hands of los barbaros all the while! She will give the lie even to her own brother!”
“The plan is excellent. It must be done to-night!”
“To-night, of course. As soon as the men have gone to bed, Gomez can start with her. I must give over the idea of following the trail to-day and, in truth, I regard that as idle. Our only chance for taking him will be to set our trap, with her for its bait; and that we can arrange hereafter. Give yourself no farther uneasiness about it. By late breakfast to-morrow I shall make my report to you, – Desperate affair with Jicarillas, or Yutas – several warriors killed – female captive rescued – valiant conduct of troops – recommend Corporal – for promotion, etcetera. Ha! ha! ha!”
The Comandante joined in this laugh, which, perhaps, he would not have done, but that Roblado had already assured him that his wound was not of the slightest danger, and would heal in a couple of weeks.
Roblado had given him assurance of this by calling the doctor a fool, and heaping upon him other opprobrious epithets. The delivery, therefore, from the fear of apprehended death, as well as from the other thought that was torturing him, had restored Vizcarra to a composure he had not enjoyed for the twenty-four hours preceding; and he now began to imbibe, to its full extent, another passion – that of vengeance against the cibolero.
That night, after tattoo had sounded, and the soldiers had retired to their respective quarters, a small mounted party was seen to issue from the gateway of the Presidio, and take a road that led in the direction of the mountains. The party consisted of three individuals. One, closely wrapped, and mounted upon a mule, appeared to be a female. The other two, oddly attired, and fantastically adorned with paint and feathers, might have been taken for a brace of Indian warriors. But they were not Indians. They were Spanish soldiers in Indian disguise. They were Sergeant Gomez and the soldier José in charge of the cibolero’s sister.
Chapter Thirty Eight
When Carlos reached the edge of the chapparal, his pursuers were still only parting from the walls of the Presidio. Of course none followed him on foot, and it had taken the men some time to get their arms and horses ready. So far as he was concerned, he no longer feared pursuit, and would have scorned to take a circuitous path. He had such confidence in the steed he bestrode, that he knew he could escape before the eyes of his pursuers, and need not have hidden himself in the chapparal.
As he rode into the ambuscade he was thinking no longer of his own safety, but of that of Don Juan and his party. Their critical situation suddenly came before his mind. How were they to escape?
Even before he had half crossed the open ground this thought had troubled him more than his own peril, and a plan had been before him: – to make direct for the pass of La Niña, and shun the chapparal altogether. This would have drawn the dragoons in the same direct course; and Don Juan, with his Tagnos, might have got off at their leisure.
Carlos would have put this plan in execution, could he have trusted to the prudence of Don Juan; but he feared to do so. The latter was somewhat rash, and not over-sagacious. Seeing Carlos in the act of escape, he might think it was his duty, as agreed upon, to show himself and his men on the edge of the thicket – the very thing Carlos now wished to prevent. For that reason the cibolero galloped direct to the place of ambuscade, where Don Juan and his men were waiting in their saddles.
“Thank God you are safe!” cried Don Juan; “but they are after you. Yonder they come in scores!”
“Yes!” replied Carlos, looking back; “and a good start I’ve gained on them!”
“What’s best to be done?” inquired Don Juan. “Shall we scatter through the chapparal, or keep together? They’ll be upon us soon!”
Carlos hesitated a moment before making reply. Three plans of action were possible, offering more or less chance of safety. First, to scatter through the chapparal as Don Juan had suggested; second, to make off together and at once without showing themselves, taking the back track, as they had come; and, third, to show themselves in front to the pursuers, and then retire on the back path. Of course the idea of fight was not entertained for a moment. That would have been idle, even absurd, under the circumstances.
The mind of the cibolero, used to quick action, examined these plans with the rapidity of thought itself. The first was rejected without a moment’s consideration. To have scattered through the chapparal would have resulted in certain capture. The jungle was too small, not over a couple of miles in width, though extending to twice that length. There were soldiers enough to surround it, which they would do. They would beat it from side to side. They could not fail to capture half the party; and though these had made no demonstration as yet, they would be connected with the affair at the Presidio, and would be severely punished, if not shot down on the spot.
To attempt to get off through the chapparal without showing themselves at all would have been the plan that Carlos would have adopted, had he not feared that they would be overtaken before night. The Tagnos were mounted on mules, already jaded, while most of the troopers rode good and swift horses. But for that Carlos might have hoped that they would escape unseen, and thus neither Don Juan nor his people would have been suspected of having had any part in the affair. This would be an important consideration for the future; but the plan was not to be thought of. The third plan was adopted.
The hesitation of the cibolero was not half so long as the time you have occupied in reading of it. Scarce ten seconds elapsed ere he made reply, not to Don Juan alone, but to the whole band, in a voice loud enough for all to hear. The reply was in the form of a command.
“Ride through the bush, all of you! Show yourselves near the front! your heads and shoulders only, with your bows! Give your war-cry! and then back till you are out of sight! Scatter right and left! – Follow me!”
As Carlos delivered these hurried directions, he dashed forward through the underwood and soon appeared near its edge. The Tagnos, guarded by Don Juan on one side and Antonio on the other, showed almost simultaneously in an irregular line along the margin of the thicket; and flourishing their bows above their heads, they uttered a defiant war-whoop, as though they were a party of savage Indians.
It would have required a practised eye to have told from a short distance that they were not. Most of them were bare-headed, with long flowing hair; and, in fact, differing very little in appearance from their brethren of the plains. They all had bows, a weapon still carried by the Indios mansos when engaged in any hostilities; and their war-cry differed not at all from some tribes called “bravos,” “wild.” Many in the band had but a short time left aside the full practice of warfare. Many of them were but neophytes to the arts of peace.
The effect of the demonstration was just what the cibolero had calculated on. The soldiers, who were galloping forward in straggling knots, and some of whom had got within three hundred paces of the chapparal, reined up in surprise. Several showed symptoms of a desire to gallop back again, but these were restrained at sight of a large body of their comrades now issuing from the Presidio.
The whole of them were taken by surprise. They believed that the “Indios bravos” were in the chapparal, and no doubt in overwhelming numbers. Their belief was strengthened by the proceedings of the previous days, in which they had done nought else, as they supposed, but ride scout after “los barbaros.” The latter had now come after them! They halted, therefore, on the plains, and waited for their fellows to come up.
That this would be the effect of his ruse Carlos foresaw. He now directed his companions to rein gently back, until they were once more under cover of the brush; and the whole party arrived at the spot where they had waited in ambush.
Antonio then took the trail, and guided them through the chapparal; not as they had come to La Niña, but by a path that led to the upper plain by another pass in the cliffs. From a point in this pass they obtained a distant view of the chapparal and the plain beyond. Though now full three miles from their place of ambush, they could see the valiant troopers still figuring on the open ground in front of it. They had not yet ventured to penetrate the dangerous underwood which they believed to be alive with ferocious savages!
Carlos, having reached the upper plain, struck off with his band in a direction nearly north. His object was to reach a ravine at some ten miles distance across the plain, and this was gained without a single pursuer having appeared in the rear.
This ravine led in an easterly direction as far as the Pecos bottom. It was the channel of a stream, in which water flowed in the rainy season, but was now quite dry. Its bed was covered with small pebbles, and a horse-trail upon these was scarcely to be followed, as the track only displaced the pebbles, leaving no “sign” that could be “read” to any advantage. Old and new foot-marks were all the same.
Into this ravine the party descended, and, after travelling down it for five or six miles, halted. Carlos called the halt for a special object – to detail a plan for their future proceeding, which had been occupying his attention during the last hour or two.
As yet, none of the party were compromised but himself. It would not advantage him that they should be, but the contrary. Neither Don Juan nor Antonio had shown themselves out of the thicket; and the other dusky faces, seen but for an instant through the brambles, could not have been recognised by the frightened troopers. If, therefore, Don Juan and his peons could get back to their home without observation, for them all would still be well.
This was a possible event. At starting Carlos had cautioned secrecy as to the expedition. It had left at an early hour, before any one was abroad, and no one knew of it. Indeed, no one in the valley was aware that the cibolero had returned before the news of the affair at the Presidio. His mules had been quietly unpacked, and were herded at a distance from the rancho by one of his men. If, then, the troopers should not visit that neighbourhood before the following day, Don Juan and his people could go back in the night and engage in their usual occupations without any suspicion. No doubt Roblado would be there in the morning, but not likely before. It was natural to suppose he would first endeavour to follow the route they had taken, and it led almost in the opposite direction from the house of Don Juan. To track them along all the windings of that route would be the work of one day at least. Then their pursuers would be no wiser as to where they had betaken themselves, for Carlos, from the point of halting, intended to adopt a plan that would be certain to throw the troopers off the trail.
It was decided, in fine, that Don Juan and his people should return home – that the peons of Carlos should also go back to the rancho; roof it on the following day – for it only wanted that; and remain by it as if nothing had occurred. They could not be made answerable for the deeds of their master.
As for the cibolero himself, his residence must remain unknown, except to one or two of his tried friends. He knew where he should find a shelter. To him the open plain or the mountain cave was alike a home. He needed no roof. The starry canopy was as welcome as the gilded ceiling of a palace.
The Tagnos were enjoined to secrecy. They were not sworn. A Tagno is not the man to talk; besides, they all knew that their own safety, perhaps their lives, depended on their silence.
All these matters were at length arranged, but the party remained where they had halted till near sunset. They then mounted, and continued on down the channel.
When they had gone a mile or so, one of them climbed out of the ravine, and, heading southward, rode off across the plain. This direction would bring him back to the valley, by a pass near the lower end of the settlement. It would be night by the time he could reach this pass, and he was not likely to encounter any one on the route – now that the “wild” Indians were abroad!
Shortly after, a second Tagno left the ravine, and rode off in a line nearly parallel to that taken by the first. Soon another imitated the example, and another, and another, until all had forsaken the ravine except Don Juan, Antonio, and the cibolero himself. The Tagnos had been instructed to reach home by different passes, and some of them, more sagacious, were sent by the most circuitous paths. There was no trooper belonging to the Presidio likely to follow that trail.
