Chapter Thirty Three
“By the Virgin, it is he!” exclaimed Roblado, with a look of astonishment and alarm. “The fellow himself, as I live!”
“I knew it! – I knew it!” shrieked Vizcarra. “I saw him on the cliff: it was no vision!”
“Where can he have come from? In the name of all the saints, where has the fellow – ”
“Roblado, I must go below! I must go in, I will not stay to meet him! I cannot!”
“Nay, colonel, better let him speak with us. He has seen and recognised you already. If you appear to shun him, it will arouse suspicion. He has come to ask our help to pursue the Indians; and that’s his errand, I warrant you!”
“Do you think so?” inquired Vizcarra, partially recovering his self-possession at this conjecture.
“No doubt of it! What else? He can have no suspicion of the truth. How is it possible he could, unless he were a witch, like his mother? Stay where you are, and let us hear what he has got to say. Of course, you can talk to him from the azotea, while he remains below. If he show any signs of being insolent, as he has already been to both of us, let us have him arrested, and cooled a few hours in the calabozo. I hope the fellow will give us an excuse for it, for I haven’t forgotten his impudence at the fiesta.”
“You are right, Roblado; I shall stay and heur him. It will be better, I think, and will allay any suspicion. But, as you say, he can have none!”
“On the contrary, by your giving him the aid he is about to ask you for, you may put him entirely off the scent – make him your friend, in fact. Ha! ha!”
The idea was plausible, and pleased Vizcarra. He at once determined to act upon it.
This conversation had been hurriedly carried on, and lasted but a few moments – from the time the approaching horseman had been first seen, until he drew up under the wall.
For the last two hundred yards he had ridden slowly, and with an air of apparent respect – as though he feared it might be deemed rude to approach the place of power by any swaggering exhibition of horsemanship. On his fine features traces of grief might be observed, but not one sign of the feeling that was at that moment uppermost in his heart.
As he drew near, he raised his sombrero in a respectful salute to the two officers, whose heads and shoulders were just visible over the parapet; and having arrived within a dozen paces of the wall, he reined up, and, taking off his hat again, waited to be addressed.
“What is your business?” demanded Roblado.
“Cavalleros! I wish to speak with the Comandante.”
This was delivered in the tone of one who is soon to ask a favour. It gave confidence to Vizcarra, as well as to the bolder villain – who, notwithstanding all his assurances to the contrary, had still some secret misgivings about the cibolero’s errand. Now, however, it was clear that his first conjecture was correct; Carlos had come to solicit their assistance.
“I am he!” answered Vizcarra, now quite recovered from his fright, “I am the Comandante. What have you to communicate, my man?”
“Your excellency, I have a favour to ask;” and the cibolero again saluted with an humble bow.
“I told you so,” whispered Roblado to his superior. “All safe, my colonel.”
“Well, my good fellow,” replied Vizcarra, in his usual haughty and patronising manner, “let me hear it. If not unreasonable – ”
“Your excellency, it is a very heavy favour I would ask, but I hope not unreasonable. I am sure that, if it do not interfere with your manifold duties, you will not refuse to grant it, as the interest and trouble you have already taken in the cause are but too well-known.”
“Told you so,” muttered Roblado a second time.
“Speak out, man!” said Vizcarra, encouragingly; “I can only give an answer when I have heard your request.”
“It is this, your excellency. I am but a poor cibolero.”
“You are Carlos the cibolero! I know you.”
“Yes, your excellency, we have met – at the fiesta of San Juan – ”
“Yes, yes! I recollect your splendid horsemanship.”
“Your excellency is kind to call it so. It does not avail me now. I am in great trouble!”
“What has befallen? Speak out, man.” Both Vizcarra and Roblado guessed the purport of the cibolero’s request. They desired that it should be heard by the few soldiers lounging about the gate and for that reason they spoke in a loud tone themselves, anxious that their petitioner might do the same.
Not to oblige them, but for reasons of his own, Carlos replied in a loud voice. He, too, wished the soldiers, but more particularly the sentry at the gate, to hear what passed between himself and the officers. “Well, your excellency,” replied he, “I live in a poor rancho, the last in the settlement, with my old mother and sister. The night before last it was attacked by a party of Indians – my mother left for dead – the rancho set on fire – and my sister carried off!”
“I have heard of all this, my friend, – nay, more, I have myself been out in pursuit of the savages.”
“I know it, your excellency. I was absent on the Plains, and only returned last night. I have heard that your excellency was prompt in pursuing the savages, and I feel grateful.”
“No need of that; I only performed my duty. I regret the occurrence, and sympathise with you; but the villains have got clear off, and there is no hope of bringing them to punishment just now. Perhaps some other time – when the garrison here is strengthened – I shall make an incursion into their country, and then your sister may be recovered.”
So completely had Vizcarra been deceived by the cibolero’s manner, that his confidence and coolness had returned, and any one knowing nothing more of the affair than could be gathered from that conversation would have certainly been deceived by him. This dissimulation both in speech and manner appeared perfect. By the keen eye of Carlos, however – with his knowledge of the true situation – the tremor of the speaker’s lips, slight as it was – his uneasy glance – and an occasional hesitancy in his speech, were all observed. Though Carlos was deceiving him, he was not deceiving Carlos.
“What favour were you going to ask?” he inquired, after he had delivered his hopeful promise.
“This, your excellency; that you would allow your troops to go once more on the trail of the robbers, either under your own command – which I would much like – or one of your brave officers.” Roblado felt flattered. “I would act as guide, your excellency. There is not a spot within two hundred miles I am not acquainted with, as well as I am with this valley; and though I should not say it, I assure your excellency, I can follow an Indian trail with any hunter on the Plains. If your excellency will but send the troop, I promise you I shall guide them to the robbers, or lose my reputation. I can follow their trail wherever it may lead.”
“Oh! you could, indeed?” said Vizcarra, exchanging a significant glance with Roblado, while both exhibited evident symptoms of uneasiness.
“Yes, your excellency, anywhere.”
“It would be impossible,” said Roblado. “It is now two days old; besides, we followed it beyond the Pecos, and we have no doubt the robbers are by this time far out of reach, of any pursuit. It would be quite useless to attempt such a thing.”
“Cavalleros!” – Carlos addressed himself to both – “I assure you I could find them. They are not so far off.”
Both the Comandante and his captain started, and visibly turned pale. The cibolero did not affect to notice this.
“Nonsense! my good fellow!” stammered Roblado; “they are – at least – hundreds of miles off by this – away over the Staked Plain – or to – to the mountains.”
“Pardon me, captain, for differing with you; but I believe I know these Indians – I know to what tribe they belong.”
“What tribe?” simultaneously inquired the officers, both with an earnestness of manner and a slight trepidation in their voices; “what tribe? – Were they not Yutas?”
“No,” answered the cibolero, while he observed the continued confusion of his questioners.
“Who, then?”
“I believe,” replied Carlos, “they were not Yutas – more likely my sworn foes, the Jicarillas.”
“Quite possible!” assented both in a breath, and evidently relieved at the enunciation.
“Quite possible!” repeated Roblado. “From the description given us by the people who saw them, we had fancied they were the Yutas. It may be a mistake, however. The people were so affrighted, they could tell but little about them. Besides, the Indians were only seen in the night.”
“Why think you they are the Jicarillas?” asked the Comandante, once more breathing freely.
“Partly because there were so few of them,” replied Carlos. “Had they been Yutas – ”
“But they were not so few. The shepherds report a large band. They have carried off immense numbers of cattle. There must have been a considerable force of them, else they would not have ventured into the valley – that is certain.”
“I am convinced, your excellency, there could not have been many. A small troop of your brave soldiers would be enough to bring back both them and their booty.”
Here the lounging lanzeros erected their dwarfish bodies, and endeavoured to look taller.
“If they were Jicarillas,” continued Carlos, “I should not need to follow their trail. They are not in the direction of the Llano. If they have gone that way, it was to mislead you in the pursuit. I know where they are at this moment – in the mountains.”
“Ha! you think they are in the mountains?”
“I am sure of it; and not fifty miles from here. If your excellency would but send a troop, I could guide it direct to the spot, and without following the trail they have taken out of the valley – which I believe was only a false one.”
The Comandante and Roblado drew back from the parapet, and for some minutes talked together in a low tone.
“It would look well,” muttered Roblado; “in fact, the very thing you want. The trump cards seem to drop right into your hands. You send a force at the request of this fellow, who is a nobody here. You do him a service, and yourself at the same time. It will tell well, I warrant you.”
“But for him to act as guide?”
“Let him! So much the better – that will satisfy all parties. He won’t find his Jicarillas, – ha! ha ha! – of course; but let the fool have his whim!”
“But suppose, camarado, he falls upon our trail? – the cattle?”
“He is not going in that direction; besides, if he did, we are not bound to follow such trails as he may choose for us; but he has said he is not going that way – he don’t intend to follow a trail. He knows some nest of these Jicarillas in the mountains, – like enough; and to rout them – there’s a bit of glory for some one. A few scalps would look well over the gate. It hasn’t had a fresh ornament of that sort since we’ve been here! What say you? It’s but a fifty-mile ride.”
“I have no objection to the thing – it would look well; but I shall not go myself. I don’t like being along with the fellow out there or anywhere else – you can understand that feeling, I suppose?”
Here the Comandante looked significantly at his companion.
“Oh! certainly – certainly,” replied the latter.
“You may take the troop; or, if you are not inclined, send Garcia or the sergeant with them.”
“I’ll go myself,” replied Roblado. “It will be safer. Should the cibolero incline to follow certain trails, I can lead him away from them, or refuse – yes it will be better for me to go myself. By my soul! I want to have a brush with these redskins. I hope to bring back some ‘hair,’ as they say. Ha ha! ha!”
“When would you start?”
“Instantly – the sooner the better. That will be more agreeable to all parties, and will prove our promptitude and patriotism. Ha! ha! ha!”
“You had better give the sergeant his orders to get the men ready, while I make our cibolero happy.”
Roblado hastened down from the azotea, and the next moment the bugle was heard sounding “boots and saddles.”
Chapter Thirty Four
During the conversation that had taken place the cibolero sat, motionless upon his horse where he had first halted. The two officers were no longer in view, as they had stepped back upon the azotea, and the high parapet concealed them. But Carlos guessed the object of their temporary retirement, and waited patiently.
The group of soldiers, lounging in the gateway, and scanning him and his horse, now amounted to thirty or forty men; but the bugle, sounding the well-known call, summoned them off to the stables, and the sentry alone remained by the gate. Both he and the soldiers, having overheard the last conversation, guessed the object of the summons. Carlos felt assured that his request was about to be granted, though as yet the Comandante had not told him.
Up to that moment the cibolero had conceived no fixed plan of action. How could he, where so much depended on chance?
Only one idea was before his mind that could be called definite – that was to get Vizcarra alone. If but for a single minute, it would suffice.
Entreaty, he felt, would be idle, and might waste time and end in his own defeat and death. A minute would be enough for vengeance; and with the thoughts of his sister’s ruin fresh on his mind, he was burning for this. To anything after he scarce gave a thought. For escape, he trusted to chance and his own superior energy.
Up to that moment, then, he had conceived no fixed plan of action. It had just occurred to him that the Comandante himself might lead the party going out. If so he would take no immediate step. While acting as guide, his opportunity would be excellent – not only for destroying his enemy, but for his own escape. Once on the wide plains, he would have no fear of ten times the number of lancers. His true steed would carry him far beyond their reach.
The troop was going. The bugle told him so. Would Vizcarra go with it? That was the question that now engrossed his thoughts, as he sat immobile on his horse, regarding with anxious look the line of the parapet above.
Once more the hated face appeared over the wall – this time to announce what the Comandante believed would be glad news to his wretched petitioner. With all the pompous importance of one who grants a great favour he announced it.
A gleam of joy shot over the features of the cibolero – not at the announcement, though Vizcarra thought so; but at his observation of the fact that the latter seemed to be now alone upon the azotea. Roblado’s face was not above the wall.
“It is exceedingly gracious of your excellency to grant this favour to an humble individual like myself. I know not how to thank you.”
“No thanks – no thanks: an officer of his Catholic Majesty wants no thanks for doing his duty.”
As the Comandante said this, he waved his hand with proud dignity, and seemed about to retire backward. Carlos interrupted his intention by putting a question: “Am I to have the honour of acting as guide to your excellency?”
“No; I do not go myself on this expedition; but my best officer, Captain Roblado, will lead it. He is now getting ready. You may wait for him.”
As Vizcarra said this, he turned abruptly away from the wall, and continued his promenade along the azotea. No doubt he felt ill at ease in a tête-à-tête with the cibolero, and was glad to end it. Why he had condescended to give all this information need not be inquired into; but it was just what the cibolero desired to know.
The latter saw that the time was come – not a moment was to be lost, and, quick as thought, he resolved himself for action.
Up to this moment he had remained in his saddle. His rifle – its butt resting in the stirrup, its barrel extending up to his shoulder – had been seen by no one. The “armas de aqua” covering his legs, and the serapé his shoulders, had completely concealed it. In addition to this, his sharp hunting-knife, strapped along his left thigh, escaped observation under the hanging corner of the serapé. These were his only weapons.
During the short conversation between the Comandante and Roblado he had not been idle, though apparently so. He had made a full reconnaissance of the walls. He saw that out of the saguan, or gateway, an escalera of stone steps led up to the azotea. This communication was intended for the soldiers, when any duty required them to mount to the roof; but Carlos knew that there was another escalera, by which the officers ascended: and although he had never been inside the Presidio, he rightly conjectured that this was at the adjacent end of the building. He had observed, too, that but one sentry was posted at the gate, and that the stone banquette, inside the saguan, used as a lounging-place by the guard, was at the moment unoccupied. The guard were either inside the house, or had strayed away to their quarters. In fact, the discipline of the place was of the loosest kind. Vizcarra, though a dandy himself, was no martinet with his men. His time was too much taken up with his own pleasures to allow him to care for aught else.
All these points had passed under the keen observation of the cibolero before Vizcarra returned to announce his intention of sending the troop. He had scarce parted out of sight the second time ere the former had taken his measures.
Silently dismounting from his horse, Carlos left the animal standing where he had halted him. He did not fasten him to either rail or post, but simply hooked the bridle-rein over the “horn” of the saddle. He know that his well-trained steed would await him there.
His rifle he still carried under his serapé, though the butt was now visible below the edge, pressed closely against the calf of his leg. In this way he walked forward to the gate.
One doubt troubled him – would the sentry permit him to pass in? If not, the sentry must die!
This resolve was quickly made; and the cibolero under his serapé kept his grasp on the handle of his hunting-knife as he approached the gate.
The attempt was made to pass through. Fortunately for Carlos, and for the sentry as well, it was successful. The latter – a slouching, careless fellow – had heard the late conversation, and had no suspicion of the other’s design. He made some feeble opposition, notwithstanding; but Carlos hastily replied that he had something to say to the Comandante, who had beckoned him up to the azotea. This but half satisfied the fellow, who, however, reluctantly allowed him to pass.
Once inside, Carlos sprang to the steps, and glided up with the stealthy silent tread of a cat. So little noise had his moccasins made upon the stones, that, when he arrived upon the roof, its occupant – although standing but six feet from the head of the escalera – was not aware of his presence!
There was he – Vizcarra himself – the despot – the despoiler – the violator of a sister’s innocence and honour – there was he within six feet of the avenging brother – six feet from the muzzle of his ready rifle, and still ignorant of the terrible situation! His face was turned in an opposite direction – he saw not his peril.
The glance of the cibolero rested upon him but an instant, and then swept the walls to ascertain if any one was above. He knew there were two sentries on the towers. They were not visible – they were on the outer walls and could not be seen from Carlos’s position. No one else was above. His enemy alone was there, and his glance again rested upon him.
Carlos could have sent the bullet into his back, and such a thought crossed his mind, but was gone in an instant. He had come to take the man’s life, but not in that manner. Even prudence suggested a better plan. His knife would be more silent, and afford him a safer chance of escape when the deed was done! With this idea, he brought the butt of his rifle gently to the ground, and rested its barrel against the parapet. The iron coming in contact with the stone wall gave a tiny clink. Slight as it was, it reached the ear of the Comandante, who wheeled suddenly round, and started at the sight of the intruder.
At first he exhibited anger, but the countenance of the cibolero, that had undergone a complete metamorphosis during the short interval, soon changed his anger into alarm.
“How dare you intrude, sir? – how dare – ”
“Not so loud, colonel! – not so loud – you will be heard!”
The low husky voice, and the firm tone of command, in which they were uttered, terrified the cowardly wretch to whom these words were addressed. He saw that the man who stood before him bore in his face and attitude the expression of desperate and irresistible resolve, that plainly said, “Disobey, and you are a dead man!” This expression was heightened by the gleaming blade of a long knife, whose haft was firmly grasped by the hand of the cibolero.
At sight of those demonstrations, Vizcarra turned white with terror. He now comprehended what was meant. The asking for the troop had been but a subterfuge to get near his own person! The cibolero had tracked him; his guilt was known, and the brother was now come to demand redress or have vengeance! The horrors of his night-dream returned, now mingling with the horrors of the fearful reality before him.
He scarce knew what to say – he could scarce speak. He looked wildly around in hopes of seeing some help. Not a face or form was in sight – nothing but the grey walls, and before him the frowning face of his terrible antagonist. He would have called for help; but that face – that angry attitude – told him that the shout would be his last. He gasped out at length —
“What want you?”
“I want my sister!”
“Your sister?”
“My sister!”
“Carlos – I know not – she is not here – I – ”
“Liar! she is within these walls. See! yonder the dog howls by the door. Why is that?”
Carlos pointed to a door in the lower part of the building, where the dog Cibolo was at that moment seen, whining and making other demonstrations, as if he wanted to get inside! A soldier was endeavouring to drive him off.
Vizcarra looked mechanically as directed. He saw the dog. He saw the soldier too; but dared not make a signal to him. The keen blade was gleaming before his eyes. The question of the cibolero was repeated.
“Why is that?”
“I – I – know not – ”
“Liar again! She has gone in by that door. Where is she now? Quick, tell me!”
“I declare, I know not. Believe me – ”
“False villain! she is here. I have tracked you through all your paths – your tricks have not served you. Deny her once more, and this to your heart. She is here! – Where – where – I say?”
“Oh! do not murder me. I shall tell all. She – she – is – here. I swear I have not wronged her; I swear I have not – ”
“Here, ruffian – stand at this point – close to the wall here. – Quick!”
The cibolero had indicated a spot from which part of the patio, or courtyard, was visible. His command was instantly obeyed, for the craven Comandante saw that certain death was the alternative.
“Now give orders that she be brought forth! You know to whom she is intrusted. Be cool and calm, do you hear? Any sign to your minions, either word or gesture, and this knife will pass through your ribs! Now!”
“O my God! – my God! – it would ruin me – all would know – ruin – ruin – I pray you – have mercy – have patience! – She shall be restored to you – I swear it – this very night!”
“This very moment, villain! Quick – proceed – all those who know – let her be brought forth! – quick – I am on fire – one moment more – ”
“O Heaven! you will murder me – a moment – Stay! – Ha!”
The last exclamation was in a different tone from the rest. It was a shout of exultation – of triumph!
The face of the Comandante was turned towards the escalera by which Carlos had ascended, while that of the latter looked in the opposite direction. Carlos, therefore, did not perceive that a third person had reached the roof, until he felt his upraised right arm grasped by a strong hand, and held back! He wrenched his arm free – turning as he did so – when he found himself face to face with a man whom he recognised as the Lieutenant Garcia.
“I have no quarrel with you,” cried the cibolero; “keep away from me.”
The officer, without saying a word, had drawn a pistol, and was levelling it at his head. Carlos rushed upon him.
The report rang, and for a moment the smoke shrouded both Garcia and the cibolero. One was heard to fall heavily on the tiles, and the next moment the other sprang from the cloud evidently unhurt.
It was the cibolero who came forth; and his knife, still in his grasp, was reeking with blood!
He rushed forward towards the spot where he had parted with the Comandante, but the latter was gone! He was some distance off on the azotea, and running towards the private stairway.
Carlos saw at a glance he could not overtake him before he should reach the escalera, and make his descent; and to follow him below would now be useless, for the shot had given the alarm.
There was a moment of despair, – a short moment; for in the next a bright thought rushed into the mind of the cibolero – he remembered his rifle. There might be still time to overtake the Comandante with that.
He seized the weapon, and, springing beyond the circle of smoke, raised it to his shoulder.
Vizcarra had reached the stairway, and was already sinking into its trap-like entrance. His head and shoulders alone appeared above the line of wall, when some half-involuntary thought induced him to stop and look back. The coward had partly got over his fright now that he had arrived within reach of succour, and he glanced back from a feeling of curiosity, to see if the struggle between Garcia and the cibolero was yet over. He meant to stop only for an instant, but just as he turned his head the rifle cracked, and the bullet sent him tumbling to the bottom of the escalera!
The cibolero saw that his shot had taken effect – he saw, moreover, that the other was dead – he heard the wild shouts of vengeance from below; and he knew that unless he could escape by flight he would be surrounded and pierced by an hundred lances.
His first thought was to descend by the escalera, up which he had come. The other way only led into the patio, already filling with men. He leaped over the body of Garcia, and ran toward the stairway.
A crowd of armed men was coming up. His escape was cut off!
Again he crossed the dead body, and, running along the azotea, sprang upon the outer parapet and looked below.
It was a fearful leap to take, but there was no other hope of escaping. Several lancers had reached the roof, and were charging forward with their pointed weapons. Already carbines were ringing, and bullets whistling about his ears. It was no time to hesitate. His eye fell upon his brave horse, as he stood proudly curving his neck and champing the bit, “Thank Heaven, he is yet alive!”
Nerved by the sight, Carlos dropped down from the wall, and reached the ground without injury. A shrill whistle brought his steed to his side, and the next moment the cibolero had sprung into the saddle, and was galloping out into the open plain!
Bullets hissed after, and men mounted in hot pursuit; but before they could spur their horses out of the gateway, Carlos had reached the edge of the chapparal, and disappeared under the leafy screen of its thick foliage.
A body of lancers, with Roblado and Gomez at their head, rode after. As they approached the edge of the chapparal, to their astonishment a score of heads appeared above the bushes, and a wild yell hailed their advance!
“Indios bravos! los barbaros!” cried the lancers, halting, while some of them wheeled back in alarm.
A general halt was made, and the pursuers waited until reinforcements should come up. The whole garrison turned out, and the chapparal was surrounded, and at length entered. But no Indians could be found, though the tracks of their animals led through the thicket in every direction.
After beating about for several hours, Roblado and his troopers returned to the Presidio.