"I do not know exactly," the colonel muttered.
"I have entire confidence in you; you are an intelligent man; I give you full authority, and whatever you do will be well done. You understand me, I trust?"
"Yes, yes, general," the officer grunted ill-temperedly, "I understand you only too well."
"I see——"
"What do you see?" the other interrupted him.
"That, if we succeed, you will be a general and Governor of Sonora. That is rather a pretty prospect, I fancy, and one worth risking something for."
"It is useless to remind me of your promises, general; you are well aware that I am devoted to you."
"I know it, of course, and on that account leave you. A longer conversation in the moonlight might arouse suspicions. Good night, and come and breakfast with me tomorrow."
"I will not fail, general. Good night, and I kiss your excellency's hands."
The general pulled his hat over his eyes, wrapped himself in his cloak, and went off hastily towards the Calle de Tacuba. On being left alone, the colonel remained for a moment plunged in deep thought; the office with which he was intrusted, for he perfectly caught the meaning of the general's hints, was most serious. He must act vigorously without compromising his chief, and in the shortest possible period, under the penalty of being himself arrested and shot in four and twenty hours if he failed. For the Mexicans, like their old masters the Spaniards, do not jest in matters connected with revolutions, and boldly cut away the evil at the root, by killing all the leaders of the abortive conspiracy.
The situation was critical, and he must make up his mind, for the slight delay might ruin all; but at so late an hour where was he to meet a man like the Zaragate, who had probably no known domicile, and who led, a no doubt most irregular life.
Mexico, like all large cities, is amply endowed with suspicious houses, frequented by rogues of all ages, who are continually wandering about in search of adventures, more or less lucrative, under the complacent protection of the moon.
Moreover, although the worthy colonel had, in the course of his life, frequented very mixed company, as he himself allowed, he was not at all anxious to venture alone at night into the lower parts of the city, and enter the velorios, thorough cut-throat dens, filled with robbers and assassins, in which respectable persons do not even venture in bright day without a shudder.
At the moment when the colonel mechanically raised his head and looked despairingly up to heaven, he fancied he saw several suspicious shadows prowling about him in a suggestive manner. But the colonel was brave, and the more so, because he had literally nothing to lose, hence he quietly loosened his sword, opened his cloak, and at the instant when four or five fellows attacked him at once with machetes and long navajas, he was on guard according to all the rules of the art, with his left foot supported a pillar, and his cloak wrapped like a buckler round his arm.
The attack was a rude one, but the colonel withstood it manfully; besides, all went on in the Mexican way, without a shout or call for help. When you are thus attacked in a Mexican street, you feel so assured of death, that you generally confine yourself to the best possible defence, without losing time in calling for help, which will certainly not arrive.
Still, the assailants being armed with short and heavy weapons, had a marked disadvantage against the colonel's long and thin rapier, which twisted like a snake, writhed round their weapons, and had already pricked two of the men sharply enough to make the others reflect, and display greater prudence in their attack. The colonel felt that they were giving ground.
"Come on, villains," he exclaimed, as he gave a terrific lunge, and ran one of the bandits right through the body, who rolled on the pavement with a yell of pain. "Let us come to an end of this, in the demon's name!"
"Stop, stop!" the man who seemed the leader of the bandits exclaimed; "we are mistaken."
As the bandits asked for nothing better than to stop, they retreated a few steps without hesitation.
"Yes, Rayo de Dios, you are mistaken, birbones," the exasperated colonel shouted.
"Can it possibly be you," the first speaker continued, "Señor Colonel Don Jaime Lupo?"
"Halloh!" the colonel said, falling back a step in surprise, "who mentioned my name?"
"I, excellency; a friend."
"A friend? a strange friend who has been trying to assassinate me for the last ten minutes."
"Believe me, colonel, that had we known whom we had to deal with, we should never have attacked you. All this is the result of a deplorable misunderstanding, which you will, however, excuse."
"But who are you, in the demon's name?"
"What, excellency, do you not recognize the Zaragate?"
"The Zaragate!" the colonel exclaimed, with glad surprise. "Well, scoundrel, are you aware that yours is a singular trade?"
"Alas! excellency, a man must do what he can," the bandit replied, in a sorrowful voice.
"Hum! then you have turned robber at present?"
The scoundrel drew himself up with dignity.
"No, excellency. I am serving, in the company of these honourable caballeros the persons who claim my help."
The honourable caballeros, seeing that the affair was going to end peacefully, had returned their knives to their belts, and seemed tolerably well satisfied at this unexpected conclusion, with the exception of the man who had received the last thrust, and surrendered his felon soul to the fiend; an acquisition, between ourselves, of no great value to the spirit of darkness.
"Can anyone have requested your services against me, Señor Zaragate?" the colonel continued, as he returned his sword to its scabbard.
"Not at all, excellency. I have already had the honour of remarking that it was a mistake; we were waiting here for a young spark, who during the last week has contracted the bad habit of prowling under the window of a senator's mistress, and who asked me as a kindness to free him from this troublesome fellow."
"Caspita! Señor Zaragate, you have a rather quick way with you; and your senator appears to me somewhat hasty. But as your little matter is probably spoiled for tonight——"
"I think, excellency, that the gallant heard the clash of steel, and took very good care not to come on."
"If he did so, he acted wisely; at any rate, if no other motive keeps you here, and you have no objection to accompany me, I shall feel obliged by your doing so, for I have to talk with you on very serious matters, and, in fact, was looking for you."
"Only see what a thing chance is!" the bandit exclaimed.
"Hum! let us hope it will not be quite so brutal next time."
The Zaragate burst into a laugh.
"Stay!" the colonel continued, as he laid a gold coin in his hand, "be good enough to give this in my name to these honourable caballeros, and beg them to forgive the rather rough way in which, at the first moment, I received their advances."
"Oh, they will not owe you a grudge, my dear sir, you may be sure of that."
The bandits, perfectly reconciled with the colonel by means of the coin, gave him tremendous bows, accompanied by offers of service, and took leave of him, after exchanging a few sentences in a whisper with their chief; then they went off to the right, while the colonel and his companion turned to the left.
"They seem to be rather determined fellows," the colonel said, in order to broach his subject.
"Perfect lions, excellency, and obedient as rastreros."
"Excellent; and have you many of that sort under your hand?"
"Nothing would be easier, in the case of need, than to make up a dozen."
"All equally true?"
"All."
"That is really valuable, do you know that, Señor Zaragate; and you are a lucky caballero!"
"Your excellency flatters me."
"On my word, no. I am expressing my honest opinion, that is all."
"Pardon me, excellency; but may I ask where we are going?"
"Have you an inclination for one direction more than another?"
"Not the slightest, excellency; still, I confess that, as a general rule, I like to know where I am going."
"Every sensible man ought to be of the same way of thinking. Well, we are going to my house; have you any objection to that?"
"None at all. I think you said, excellency, that I was a lucky man?"
"Indeed I did, and I repeat that I consider you very fortunate."
"Hum, you know the proverb, excellency, 'everyone knows where the shoe pinches him.'"
"That is true, and I suppose the shoe pinches you, eh?"
"It does," he replied, with a sigh.
The colonel looked at him anxiously. "I understand the cause of your grief," he said; "and it is the worse, because there is no remedy for it."
"Do you think so?"
"Caspita! I am certain of it."
"You may be mistaken, excellency."
"Nonsense! You who so graciously place yourself at the service of those who have an insult to avenge, are forced to renounce your own vengeance."
"Oh, oh, excellency, what is that you are saying?"
"I am speaking the truth. You hate the Frenchman whom you mentioned to me today, but you are afraid of him."
"Afraid!" he exclaimed angrily.
"I believe so," the colonel answered coolly.
"Oh! if I only made up my mind to it——"
"Yes," the colonel remarked, with a laugh, "but you will not make up your mind because, I repeat, you are afraid; and to prove to you the truth of my assertion, although I do not know the man, and only take an interest in the matter for your sake, I will make you a wager if you like."
"A wager?"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"I bet you that you will not dare avenge yourself on your enemy within the next four and twenty hours, not even with the help of your twelve companions."
"And what will you bet, excellency?"
"Well, I am so certain of running no risk, that I will bet you one hundred ounces. Does that suit you?"
"One hundred ounces!" the bandit exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with greed. "Viva Dios! I would kill my own brother for such a sum."
"You are flattering yourself, I see."
"Here we are at your door, excellency, so it is needless for me to go any further. You said one hundred ounces, I think?"
"I did."
"Farewell. The coming day will not end before I am avenged!"
"Nonsense, nonsense! you will think better of it. Good night, Señor Zaragate."
And the colonel entered his house, muttering to himself, in an aside, "I fancy I managed that cleverly. If this accursed Frenchman escapes from the bloodhounds I have let loose on him, he must be the demon the general calls him."
The house taken for Valentine by Mr. Rallier was, as we have already stated, situated in the Calle de Tacuba, and by a strange accident, in no way premeditated, only a few yards from the mansion belonging to General Don Sebastian Guerrero. The latter had no suspicion of this, for until the moment when the hunter thought it advisable to pay him a visit, he had been completely ignorant of his enemy's presence in Mexico, in spite of the crowd of spies whom he paid to inform him of his arrival in the capital.
The hunter, therefore, would only have had a few steps to go to reach home after leaving the general. But suspecting that the latter might have given orders to have his carriage followed, he ordered his coachman to drive to the Alameda, and thence to the Paseo de Bucareli.
As the night was far advanced, the promenaders had abandoned the shady walks of the Alameda, which was now completely deserted. This, doubtless, was what the hunter desired, for, on reaching about the centre of the drive, he ordered the coachman to stop, and got out with his companions. After recommending him to watch carefully over his mules (in Mexico people do not use horses for their carriages), and not let any one approach him, for fear of one of those surprises so frequent at this hour at this place, the three men then disappeared in one of the shady walks, though careful not to go too far, so that they could assist their coachman in case of need.
Valentine, like all men accustomed to desert life, that is to vast horizons of verdure, had an instinctive distrust of stone walls, behind which, in his fancy, a spy was continually listening. Hence, when he had an important affair to discuss, or a serious matter to communicate to his friends, he preferred—in spite of the care with which his house had been chosen, and the faithful friends who passed as servants there—going to the Alameda, the Paseo de Bucareli, the Vega, or somewhere in the environs of Mexico, where after posting Curumilla as a sentry, that is to say, the man in whom he had the most perfect faith, and whose scent, if I may be allowed the term, was infallible, he believed that he could safely confide his closest secrets to the friends he conveyed to these strange open air councils.
On reaching a thick clump of trees the hunter stopped.
"We shall be comfortable here," he said, as he sat down on a stone bench and invited his friends to imitate him, "and shall be able to talk without fear."
"The trees have eyes, and the leaves ears," Belhumeur answered sententiously; "I fear nothing so much in the world as these transparent screens of verdure, which allow everything to be seen and heard."
"Yes," Valentine remarked with a smile, "if you do not take the precaution to frighten away spies;" and at the same moment he imitated the soft cadenced hiss of the coral snake.
A similar hiss was heard from the centre of the clump and seemed like an echo.
"That is the chief's signal," the Canadian said. "He has been watching for us there for nearly an hour. Do you now believe that we are in safety?"
"Certainly; when Curumilla watches over us we have no surprise to apprehend."
"Let us talk, then," said Don Martial.
"One moment," Valentine remarked, "we must first hear the report of a friend, which is most valuable, and will doubtless decide the measures we have to adopt."
"Whom are you alluding to?"
"You shall see," Valentine answered, and clapped his hands thrice softly.
Immediately a slight sound and a gentle rustling of leaves was heard in a neighbouring thicket, and a man suddenly emerged, about four paces from the hunters. It was Carnero, the capataz of General Guerrero. He wore a vicuna skin hat, of which the large brim was bent over his eyes, and he was wrapped up in a spacious cloak.
"Good evening, señores," he said, with a polite bow, "I have been awaiting your coming for nearly an hour, and almost despaired of seeing you tonight."
"We were detained longer than we expected by General Guerrero."
"Do you come from him?"
"Did I not tell you I should call on him?"
"Yes; but I hardly believed that you would have the temerity to venture so imprudently into the lion's den."
"Nonsense," Valentine said with a disdainful smile, "the lion as you call him, I assure you, was remarkably tame; he drew in his claws completely, and received us with the most exquisite politeness."
"In that case take care," the capataz replied, with a significant shake of the head; "if he received you as you say, and I have no reason to doubt it, he is, be assured, preparing a terrible countermine against you."
"I am of the same opinion; the question is, whether we shall allow him the time to act."
"He is very clever, my dear Valentine," the capataz continued, "and seems to possess an intuition of evil. In spite of the oath I took to you when, on your entreaty, I consented to remain in his service, there are days when, although I possess a thorough knowledge of his character, he terrifies even me, and I feel on the point of giving up the rude task which, through devotion to you, I have imposed on myself."
"Courage, my friend; persevere but a few days longer, and, believe me, we shall be all avenged."
"May heaven grant it!" the capataz said with a sigh; "but I confess that I dare not believe it, even though it is you who assure me of the fact."
"Have you learnt any important news since our last interview?"
"Only one thing, but I think it is of the utmost gravity for you."
"Speak, my friend."
"What I have to tell you is short and gloomy, señores. The general, after a secret conversation with his man of business, ordered me to carry a letter to the Convent of the Bernardines."
"To the convent?" Don Martial exclaimed.
"Silence," said Valentine. "Do you know the contents of this letter?"
"Doña Anita gave it me to read. The general informs the abbess that he is resolved to finish the matter; that whether his ward be mad or not, he means to marry her, and that at sunrise on the day after tomorrow, a priest sent by him will present himself at the convent to arrange the ceremony."
"Great God! what is to be done?" the Tigrero exclaimed sadly; "how is the execution of this odious machination to be prevented?"
"Silence," Valentine repeated. "Is that all, Carnero?"
"No; the general adds, that he requests the abbess to prepare the young lady for this union, and that he will himself call at the convent tomorrow, in order to explain more fully his inexorable wishes—these are the very words of the letter."
"Very good, my friend, I thank you for this precious information; it is of the utmost importance that the general should be prevented from going to the convent before three o'clock of the tarde. You understand, my friend, this is of vital importance, so you must manage to effect it."
"Do not be uneasy, my dear Valentine; the general shall not go to the convent before the hour you indicate, whatever may be the means I am forced to employ to prevent him."
"I count on your promise, my friend; and now good-bye."
He offered him his hand, which the capataz pressed forcibly.
"When shall I see you, again?" he asked.
"I will soon let you know," the hunter answered.
The capataz bowed and went down a walk; the sound of his footsteps rapidly decreased, and was quite inaudible within a few minutes.
"My friends," Valentine then said, "we have now arrived at the moment for the final struggle, which we have so long been preparing. We must not let ourselves be led away by hatred, but act like judges, not as men who are avenging themselves. Blood demands blood, it is true, according to the law of the desert; but, remember, however culpable the man whom we have condemned may be, his death would be an indelible spot, a brand of infamy which would sully our honour."
"But this monster," the Tigrero exclaimed, with a passion the more violent because it was repressed, "is beyond the pale of humanity."
"He may re-enter it to repent."
"Are we priests then to practise forgetfulness of insults?" Don Martial asked with a fiendish grin.
"No, my friend, there are men in the grand and sublime acceptation of the term; men who have often been faulty themselves, and who, rendered better by the life of struggling they have led, and the grief which has frequently bowed them beneath its iron yoke, inflict a chastisement, but despise vengeance, which they leave to weak and pusillanimous minds. Who of you, my friends, would dare to say that he has suffered more than I? To Him alone will I concede the right of imposing his will on me, and what He bids me do I will do."
"Forgive me, my friend," the Tigrero answered, "you are ever good, ever great. God, in imposing on you a heavy task, endowed you at the same time with an energetic soul, and a heart which seems to expand in your bosom under the blast of adversity, instead of withering. We, however, are but common men, in whom the sanguinary instinct of the savage is constantly revealed in spite of all our efforts, and who know no other law save that of retaliation. Forget the senseless words my lips uttered, and be assured that I will ever joyfully obey you, whatever you may command, persuaded as I am, that you can only ask the man who has utterly placed himself in your power to do just actions."
The hunter, while his friend was speaking thus in a voice broken by emotion, had let his head fall on his hands, and seemed absorbed in gloomy and painful thought.
"I have nothing to forgive you, my friend," he replied in a gentle, sympathizing voice, "for through my own sufferings I can understand what yours are. I, too, often feel my heart bound with wrath and indignation; for, believe me, my friend, I have a constant struggle to wage against myself, not to let myself be led away to make a vengeance of what must only be a punishment. But enough on this head; time presses, and we must arrange our plans, so as not to be foiled by our enemies. I went today to the palace, where I had a secret conversation with the President of the Republic, whom, as you are aware, I have known for many years, and who honours me with a friendship of which I am far from believing myself worthy. At the end of our interview he handed me a paper, a species of blank signature, by the aid of which I can do what I think advisable for the success of our plans."
"Did you obtain such a paper?"
"I have it in my pocket. Now, listen to me. You will go at sunrise tomorrow to the house of Don Antonio Rallier; he will be informed of your coming, and you will follow his instructions."
"And you?"
"Do not be anxious about my movements, good friend, and only think of your own business, for, I repeat, the decisive moment is approaching. The day after tomorrow begins the feast of the anniversary of Mexican Independence; that is to say, on that day we shall do battle with our enemy, and meet him face to face; and the combat will be a rude one, for this man has a will of iron, and a terrible energy. We shall be able to conquer him, but not to subdue him, and if we do not take care he will slip through our hands like a serpent; hence our personal affairs must be finished tomorrow. Though apparently absent, I shall be really near you, that is to say, I will help you with all my power. Still, do not forget that you must act with the most extreme prudence, and, above all, the greatest moderation; a second of forgetfulness would ruin you, by alarming the innumerable spies scattered round the Convent of the Bernardines. I trust that you have heard and understood me, my friend?"
"Yes, Don Valentine."
"And you will act as I recommend?"
"I promise it."
"Reflect, that you are perhaps risking the loss of your future happiness."
"I will not forget your recommendation, I swear to you; I am risking too great a stake in this game, which must decide my future life, to let myself be induced to commit any act of violence."
"Good; I am happy to hear you speak thus; but have confidence, my friend, I feel certain that we shall succeed."
"May heaven hear you!"
"It always hears those who appeal to it with a pure heart and a lively faith. Hope, I tell you; and now, my dear Don Martial, permit me to say a few words to our worthy friend, Belhumeur."
"I will withdraw."
"What for? have I any secrets from you? You can hear what I am going to say to him."
"You have nothing to say to me, Valentine," the hunter said, with a shake of his head, "nothing but what I know already; I have no other interest in what is about to take place beyond the deep friendship that attached me to the count and now to you. You think that the recollection I have preserved of our unhappy friend cannot be sufficiently engraven on my heart for me to risk my life at your side in avenging him; but you are mistaken, Valentine, that's all. I will not abandon you in the hour of combat; I will remain at your side even should you order me to leave you. I tell you that I swear, and have taken an oath to that effect, to make a shield of my body to protect you, if it should be necessary. Now, give me your hand, and suppose we say no more about it?"
Valentine remained silent for a moment; a scalding tear ran down his bronzed cheeks, and he took the hand of the honest, simple-minded Canadian, and merely uttered the words—
"Thank you; I accept."
They then rose, and returned to their carriage, after Valentine had warned his faithful bodyguard, Curumilla, by a signal that he could leave his hiding place, as the interview was over. A quarter of an hour later the three gentlemen reached the house in the Calle de Tacuba, were Curumilla was already awaiting them.
On the morrow, Mexico awoke to a holiday; nothing extraordinary, in a country where the year is a perpetual holiday, and where the most frivolous pretext suffices for letting off cohetes, that supreme amusement of the Mexicans.
This time the affair was serious, for the inhabitants wished to celebrate in a proper manner the anniversary of the Proclamation of Independence, of which the day to which we allude was the eve.
At sunrise a formidable bando issued from the government palace, and went through all the streets and squares of the city, announcing with a mighty clamour of bugles and drums, that on the next day there would be a bull fight with "Jamaica" and "Monte Parnasso" for the leperos, high mass celebrated in all the churches, theatres thrown open gratis, a review of the garrison, and of all the troops quartered sixty miles round, and fireworks and illuminations at night, with open air balls and feria.
The government did things nobly, it must be confessed; hence the people issued from their houses, spread feverishly through the streets at an early hour, laughing, shouting, and letting off squibs, while singing the praises of the President of the Republic, and taking, after their fashion, something on account of the morrow's festival.
Don Martial, in order to throw out the spies doubtless posted round Valentine's house, had left his friend in the middle of the night, and gone to his lodgings, and a few minutes before day proceeded to the house of Mr. Rallier.
Although the sun was not yet above the horizon, the French gentleman was already up and conversing with his brother Edward, while waiting for the Tigrero. Edward was ready to start, and his brother was giving him his parting recommendations.
"You are welcome," the Frenchman said cordially, on perceiving Don Martial; "I was busy with our affair. My brother Edward is just off to our quinta, whither my mother and my brother Auguste proceeded two days ago, so that we might find all in order on our arrival."
Although the Tigrero did not entirely understand what the banker said to him, he considered it unnecessary to show it, and hence bowed without answering.
"All is settled, then," Mr. Rallier continued, addressing his brother; "get everything ready, for we shall probably arrive before midday—that is to say, in time for lunch."
"Your country house is not far from the city?" the Tigrero asked, for the sake of saying something.
"Hardly five miles; it is at St. Angel; but in an excellent position for defence, in the event of an attack. You are aware that St. Angel is built on the side of an extinct volcano, and surrounded by lava and spongy scoria, which renders an approach very difficult."
"I must confess my ignorance of the fact."
"In a country like this, where the government is bound to think of its own defence before troubling itself about individuals, it is as well to take one's precautions, and be always perfectly on guard. And now be off, my dear Edward; your weapons are all right, and two resolute peons will accompany you; besides, the sun is now rising, and you will have a pleasant ride; so good-by till we meet again."
The two brothers shook hands, and the young man, after bowing to Don Martial, left the house, followed by two servants well mounted, and armed like himself. During this conversation the peons had put the horses in a close carriage.
"Get in," said Mr. Rallier.
"What!" Don Martial replied, "are we going to drive?"
"By Jove! do you think I would venture to go to the convent on horseback? Why, we could not go along a street before we were recognized."
"But this carriage will betray you."
"I admit it; but no one will know whom it contains when the shutters are drawn up, which I shall be careful to do before leaving the house. Come, get in."
The Tigrero placed himself by the Frenchman's side; the latter pulled up the shutters, and started at a gallop in a direction diametrically opposed to that which it should have followed, in order to reach the convent.
"Where are we going?" the Tigrero asked presently.
"To the Convent of the Bernardines."
"I fancy we are not going the right road."
"That is possible, but, at any rate, it is the safest."
"I humbly confess that I cannot understand it at all."
Mr. Rallier began laughing.
"My good fellow," he replied, "you will understand at the right time, so be easy. You need only know, that in acting as I am doing, I am carrying out to the letter the instructions of Valentine, my friend and yours. It was not for nothing that he has so long borne the name of the Trail-hunter; besides, you remember the prairie adage, which has always appeared to me full of good sense, 'The shortest road from one point to another is a crooked line.' Well, we are following the crooked line, that is all. Besides, in all that is about to take place, you must remain completely out of the question, and restrict yourself to being a spectator, rather than an actor, and willing to obey me in everything I may order. Does this part displease you?"
The Frenchman said this with the merry accent and delightful simplicity which formed the basis of his character, and which caused everybody to like him whom accident brought in contact with him.
"I have no repugnance to obey you, Señor Don Antonio," the Tigrero answered. "The confidence our common friend places in you is a sure guarantee to me of your intentions. Hence dispose of me as you think proper, without fearing the slightest objection on my part."
"That is the way to talk," the banker said, with a laugh. "Now, to begin, my dear señor, you will do me the pleasure of changing your dress, for the one you wear is slightly too worldly for the place to which we are going."
"Change my dress?" the Tigrero exclaimed. "Diablos! you ought to have told me so at your house."
"Unnecessary, my dear sir. I have all you require here."
"Here?"
"Well, you shall see," he said, as he took from one of the coach pockets a Franciscan's gown, while from the other he drew a pair of sandals and a cord. "Have you not worn this dress before?"
"I have."
"Well, you are going to put it on again, and for the following reasons: At the convent, people believe (or pretend to believe, which comes to the same thing) that you are a Franciscan monk. For the sake, then, of persons who are not in the secret, it is necessary that I should be accompanied by a monk, and more, that they may be able, if required, to take their oaths to the fact."
"I obey you. But will not your coachman be surprised at seeing a Franciscan emerge from the carriage into which he showed a caballero?"
"My coachman? Pardon me, but I do not think you looked at him?"
"Indeed, I did not. All these Indians are alike, and equally hideous."
"That is true; however, look at him."
Don Martial bent forward, and slightly lowered the shutter.
"Curumilla!" he cried, in amazement, as he drew back. "He, and so well disguised?"
"Do you now believe that he will be surprised?"
"I was wrong."
"No, but you do not take the trouble to reflect."
"Well, I will put on the gown since I must. Still, with your permission, I will keep my weapons under it."
"Caspita! my permission? On the contrary, I order you to do so. But what are they?"
"You shall see. A machete, a knife, and a pair of pistols."
"That is first-rate. If necessary, I shall be able to find you a rifle. Trust to me for that."
While talking thus, the Tigrero had changed his dress; that is to say, he had simply put the gown over his other clothes, fastened the rope round his body, and substituted the sandals for his boots.
"There," the Frenchman continued, "you are a perfect monk."
"No; I want something more, something which is even indispensable."
"What's that?"
"The hat."
"That's true."
"That part of my costume I hardly know how we shall obtain."
"Man of little faith!" the Frenchman said with a smile, "see, and be confounded!"
While speaking thus he raised the front cushion, opened the box it covered, and pulled out the hat of a monk of St. Francis, which he gave the Tigrero.
"And now do you want anything else, pray?" he asked, mockingly.
"Indeed, no. Why, your carriage is a perfect locomotive shop!"
"Yes, it contains a little of everything. But we have arrived," he added, seeing the carriage stop. "You remember that you must in no way make yourself prominent, and simply confine yourself to doing what I tell you. That is settled, I think?"
The Frenchman opened the door, for the carriage had really stopped in front of the Convent of the Bernardines. Two or three ill-looking fellows were prowling about: and, in spite of their affected indifference, it was easy to recognize them for spies. The Frenchman and his companion were not deceived. They got out with an indifference as well assumed as that of the spies, and approached the door slowly, which was opened at their first knock, and closed again behind them with a speed that proved the slight confidence the sister porter placed in the individuals left outside.
"What do you desire, señores?" she asked, politely, after curtseying to the newcomers with a smile of recognition.
"My dear sister," the Frenchman answered, "be good enough to inform the holy mother abbess of our visit, and ask her to favour us with an interview for a few moments."
"It is still very early, brother," the nun answered, "and I do not know if holy mother can receive you at this moment."
"Merely mention my name to her, sister, and I feel convinced that she will make no difficulty about receiving us."
"I doubt it, brother, for, as I said before, it is very early. Still, I am willing to tell her, in order to prove to you my readiness to serve you."
"I feel deeply grateful to you for the kindness, sister."
The sister then left the parlour, after begging the two gentlemen to wait a moment. During her absence the Frenchman and his companion did not exchange a syllable; however, this absence was short, and only lasted a few minutes.
Without speaking, the sister made the visitors a sign to follow her, and led them to the parlour where we have already taken the reader, and where the abbess was waiting for them.
The Mother Superior was pale, and seemed anxious and preoccupied. She invited the two gentlemen to sit down, and waited silently till they addressed her. They, on their side, seemed to be waiting for her to inquire the nature of their visit; but, as she did not do so, and this silence threatened to be prolonged for some time, Mr. Rallier resolved on breaking it.
"I had the honour, madam," he said, with a respectful bow, "to send you yesterday, by one of my servants, a letter, in which I informed you of this morning's visit."
"Yes, caballero," she at once, answered, "I duly received this letter, and your sister Helena is ready to go away with you, whenever you express the wish. Still permit me to make one request of you."
"Speak, madam, and if I can be of any service to you, believe me, that I shall eagerly seize the opportunity."
"I know not, caballero, how to explain myself, for what I have to say to you is really so strange that I fear lest it should call up a smile to your lips. Although Doña Helena has only been a few months in our convent, she has made herself so beloved by all her companions, through her charming character, that her departure is an occasion of mourning for all of us."
"You render me very happy and very proud by speaking thus of my sister, madam."
"This praise is only the expression of the strictest truth, caballero. We are all really most grieved to see her leave us thus. Still, I should not have ventured thus to make myself the interpreter of our regrets, were there not a very strong reason that renders it almost a duty to speak to you."
"I am listening to you, madam, though I can guess beforehand what you are going to say to me."
She looked at him in surprise.
"You guess! Oh, it is impossible, señor," she exclaimed.
The Frenchman smiled.
"My sister, Doña Helena, as is generally the case in convents, has chosen one of her companions, whom she loves more than the others, and made her her intimate friend. Is such the case, madam?"
"How do you know it?"
He continued; with a smile—
"Now, this young lady, so beloved not only by Helena but by you, madam, and all your community, is a gentle, kind, loving girl, who, in consequence of a great misfortune, became insane, but whom your tender care has restored to reason. Still, you keep the latter fact a profound secret, before all from her guardian, who, not contented with having stripped her of her fortune, now insists of robbing her of her happiness by forcing her to marry him."
"Señor, señor," the abbess exclaimed, as she rose from her seat, with an astonishment blended with terror, "who are you that you know so many things of which I believed the whole world ignorant?"
"Who am I, madam? the brother of Helena, that is to say, a man in whom you can place the most entire confidence. Hence permit me to proceed."
The abbess, still suffering from extreme agitation, sat down again.
"Go on, caballero," she said.
"The guardian of Doña Anita, either that he has suspicion, or for some other motive, wrote to you yesterday, ordering you to prepare her to marry him within twenty-four hours. Since the receipt of this fatal letter, Doña Anita has been plunged in the deepest despair, a despair further heightened by the sudden departure of my sister, the only friend in whose arms she can safely reveal her heart's secrets. But you, madam, who are so holy and good, are aware that God can at his pleasure confound the projects of the wicked, and change wormwood into honey. Did you not receive a visit yesterday from Don Serapio de la Ronda?"
"Yes, that gentleman deigned to visit me a few moments before I received the fatal letter to which you have referred."
"Did not Don Serapio, on leaving you, say these words: 'Be kind enough to inform Doña Anita that a friend is watching over her; that this friend has already given her unequivocal proofs of the interest he takes in her happiness, and that, on the day when she again sees the Franciscan monk, to whom she confessed once before, all her misfortunes will be ended?'"
"Yes, Don Serapio did utter those words."
"Well, madam, I am sent to you, not only by him, but by another person, who is no less than the President of the Republic, not only to take away my sister but also to ask you to deliver up to me Doña Anita, who will accompany her."
"Heaven is my witness, señor, that I would be delighted to do what you ask of me. Unhappily, it is not in my power; Doña Anita was entrusted to me by her sole relation, who is at the same time her guardian, and though he is unworthy of that title, and my heart bleeds in refusing you, it is to him alone that I am bound to deliver her."
"This objection, madam, the justice of which I fully appreciate, has been foreseen by the persons whose representative I am. Hence they consulted on the means to remove the scruples by entirely releasing you from responsibility. Father, give this lady the paper, of which you are the bearer."
Without uttering a word, Don Martial took from his pocket the blank signature Valentine had entrusted to him, and handed it to the abbess.
"What is this?" she asked.
"Madam," the Frenchman answered, "that paper is a blank signature of the President of the Republic, who orders you to deliver Doña Anita into my hands."
"I see it," she said, sorrowfully; "unfortunately this blank signature, which would everywhere else have the strength of the law, is powerless here. We only indirectly depend on the temporal power, but are completely subjugated to the spiritual power, and we can only receive orders from it."
The Tigrero took a side glance, full of despair, at his companion, whose face was still smiling.
"What would you require, madam," he continued, "in order to consent to give up this unhappy young lady to me?"
"Alas, señor, it is not I who refuse compliance. Heaven is my witness that it is my greatest desire to see her escape from her persecutor."
"I am thoroughly convinced of that, madam; that is why, feeling persuaded of your good feeling towards your charge, I ask you to tell me what authority you require in order to give her up to me."
"I cannot, señor, allow Doña Anita to quit this convent without a perfectly regular order, signed by Monseigneur the Archbishop of Mexico, who alone has the right to command here, and whom I am compelled to obey."
"And if I had that order, madam, all your scruples would be removed?"
"Yes, all, señor."
"You would have no further difficulty in allowing Doña Anita to depart?"
"I would deliver her to you at once, señor."
"Since that is the case, madam, I will ask you to do so, for I have brought you that order."
"You have it?" she said, with undisguised delight.
"Here it is," he answered, as he took a paper from his pocketbook, and handed it to her.
She opened it at once, and eagerly perused it.
"Oh now," she continued, "Doña Anita is free, and I will——"
"One moment, madam," he interrupted her, "have you carefully read the order I had the honour of giving you?"
"Yes, sir."
"In that case be kind enough to allow the young ladies to put on secular clothing, and, as their departure must be kept secret, allow my carriage to enter the front courtyard. I fancied I saw ill-looking fellows prowling about the neighbourhood, who looked to me like spies."
"What must I say, though, to the young lady's guardian? I am going to see him today."
"I am aware of that, madam. Gain time; tell him that his ward is ill; that you have succeeded in gaining her consent to the projected marriage, but, on the condition that it be deferred for eight and forty hours. It is a falsehood I am suggesting to you, madam, but it is necessary, and I feel convinced that heaven will pardon it."
"Oh, do not be anxious about that, señor. I will gladly take on myself the responsibility of this falsehood; Doña Anita's guardian will not dare to oppose so short a delay, however well inclined he may be to do so: but in forty-eight hours?"
"In forty-hours, madam," the Frenchman answered in a hollow voice, "General Guerrero will not come to claim the hand of Doña Anita."
All the scruples of the Mother Superior—honourable scruples, let us hasten to add—having thus been removed, one after the other, by Mr. Rallier, by means of the double orders he had been careful to provide himself with, the next thing was to see about getting the two boarders away without further day.
The abbess, who understood the importance of a speedy conclusion, left her visitors in the parlour, and, in order to avoid any misunderstanding, herself undertook to fetch the two young ladies, after giving a lay sister orders to call the carriage into the first courtyard.
In a religious community, one of women before all—we do not mean this satirically—whatever may be done, and whatever precautions may be taken, nothing can long be kept a secret. Hence, the two gentlemen had scarcely entered the speaking room of the abbess ere the rumour of the departure of Doña Anita and Doña Helena spread among the nuns with extreme rapidity. Who spread the news no one could have told, and yet everybody spoke about it as a certainty.
The young ladies were naturally the first informed. At the outset their anxiety was great, and Doña Anita trembled, for she believed that she was fetched by order of her guardian, and that the monk speaking with the abbess was the one sent by the general to make immediate preparations for her marriage. Hence, when the abbess entered Doña Helena's cell, she found the pair in each other's arms, and weeping bitterly.
Fortunately, the mistake was soon cleared up, and the sorrow converted into joy when the abbess, who, through sympathy, wept as much as her boarders, explained that of the two strangers, whom they feared so greatly, one was the brother of Doña Helena, and the other the Franciscan monk whom Doña Anita had already seen, and that they had come, not to add to her sufferings, but to remove her from the tyranny that oppressed her.
Doña Helena, on hearing that her brother was at the convent, bounded with joy, and removed her friend's last doubts, for, like all unhappy persons. Doña Anita clung greedily to this new hope of salvation, which was thus allowed to germinate in her heart at a moment when she believed that she had no chance left of escaping her evil destiny.
The abbess then urged them to complete their preparations for departure, helped them to change their dress, and, after embracing them several times, conducted them to the parlour.
In order to avoid any disturbance when the young ladies left the convent, where everybody adored them, the abbess had the good idea of sending the nuns to their cells. It was a very prudent measure, which, by preventing leave-taking, also prevented any noisy manifestations of cries and tears, the sound of which might have been heard outside, and have fallen on hostile ears.
The leave-taking was short, for there was no time to lose in vain compliments. The young ladies drew down their veils, and proceeded to the courtyard under the guidance of the abbess. The carriage had been drawn as close as possible to the cloisters, and the court was entirely deserted, only the abbess, the sister porter, and a confidential nun witnessing the departure.
As the Frenchman opened the door of the carriage, a piece of paper lying on the seat caught his eyes. He seized it without being seen, and hid it in the hollow of his hand. After kissing the good abbess for the last time, the young ladies took the back seat, and Don Martial the front, as did Mr. Rallier, after previously whispering to the coachman, that is, to Curumilla, two Indian words, to which he replied by a sinister grin. Then, at a signal from the abbess, the convent gates were opened, and the carriage started at full speed, drawn by six powerful mules.
The crowd silently made room for it to pass, the gates closed again immediately, and the carriage almost immediately disappeared round the corner of the next street.
It was about seven o'clock in the morning. The fugitives—for we can give them no other name—galloped in silence for the first ten or fifteen minutes, when the Frenchman gently touched his companion's shoulder, and offered him the paper he had found in the carriage.
"Read!" he said.
The paper only contained two words, hurriedly written in pencil—
"Take care."
"Oh, oh," the Tigrero exclaimed, turning pale, "what does this mean?"
"By Jove," the Frenchman answered cautiously, "it means that in spite of our precautions, or perhaps on account of them, for in these confounded affairs a man never knows how to act in order to deceive the persons he fears, we are discovered, and probably have spies at our heels."
"Caray! and what will become of the young ladies in the event of a dispute?"
"In the event of a fight you mean, for there will be an obstinate one, I foretell. Well, we will defend them as well as we can."
"I know that; but suppose we are killed?"
"Ah! there is that chance; but I never think of that till after the event."
"Oh heaven!" Doña Anita murmured, as she hid her head in her friend's bosom.
"Re-assure yourself, señorita," the Frenchman continued, "and, above all, be silent, for the sound of your voice might be recognized, and change into certainty what may still be only a suspicion. Besides, remember that if you have enemies, you have also friends, since they took the precaution to warn us. Now, in all probability, this unknown offerer of advice will not have stopped there, but thought of the means to come to our assistance in the most effectual manner."
The carriage went along in the meanwhile at a breakneck pace, and had nearly reached the city gates. We will now tell what had happened, and how the Frenchman was warned of the danger that threatened him.
General Don Sebastian Guerrero had organized a band of spies composed of leperos and scoundrels, who, however, possessed acknowledged cleverness and skill, and if Valentine had escaped their surveillance and foiled their machinations, it was solely through the habits which he had contracted during a lengthened life in the prairies, and which had become an intuition with him, so far did he carry the quality of scenting and unmasking an enemy, whatever might be the countenance he borrowed. But if he had not been recognized, it was not the same with his friends, and the latter had not been able long to escape the lynx eyes of the general's spies.
The Convent of the Bernardines had naturally become for some days past the centre of the surveillance, as it were the spying headquarters, of Don Sebastian's agents. The arrival of a carriage with closed blinds at the convent at once gave the alarm; and though Mr. Rallier was not personally known, the fact of his being a Frenchman was sufficient to rouse suspicions.
While the Frenchman and the monk were conversing in the parlour with the abbess, a lepero pretended to hurt himself, and was conveyed by two of his acolytes to the convent gate, and the good hearted porter had not refused him admission, but, on the contrary, had eagerly given him all the assistance his condition seemed to require.
While the lepero was gradually regaining his senses, his comrades asked questions with that captious skill peculiar to their Mexican nature. The sister porter was a worthy woman, endowed with a very small stock of brains, and fond of talking. On finding this opportunity to indulge in her favourite employment, she was easily led on, and, almost of her own accord, told all she knew, not suspecting the harm she did. Let us hasten to add that this all was very little; but, being understood and commented on by intelligent men interested in discovering the truth, it was extremely serious.
When the three leperos had drawn all they could out of the sister porter, they hastened to leave the convent. Just as they emerged into the street, they found themselves face to face with Ño Carnero, the general's capataz, whom his master had sent on a tour of discovery. They ran up to him, and in a few words told him what had happened.
This was grave, and the capataz trembled inwardly at the revelation, for he understood the terrible danger by which his friends were menaced. But Carnero was a clever man, and at once made up his mind to his course of action.
He greatly praised the leperos for the skill they had displayed in discovering the secret, put some piastres into their hands, and sent them off to the general, with the recommendation, which was most unnecessary, to make all possible speed. Then, in his turn, he began prowling round the convent, and especially the carriage, which Curumilla made no difficulty in letting him approach, for the reader will doubtless have guessed that the animosity the Indian had on several occasions evinced for the capataz was pretended, and that they were perfectly good friends when nobody could see or hear them.
The capataz skilfully profited by the confusion created in the crowd by the carriage entering the convent, to throw in, unperceived, the paper Mr. Rallier had found. Certain now that his friends would be on their guard, he went off in his turn, after recommending the spies he left before the convent to keep up a good watch, and walked in the direction of the Plaza Mayor smoking a cigarette.
At the corner of the Calle de Plateros he saw a man standing in front of a pulquería, engaged in smoking an enormous cigar. The capataz entered the pulquería, drank a glass of Catalonian refino, but while paying, he clumsily let fall a piastre which rolled to the foot of the man standing in the doorway. The latter stooped, picked up the coin, and restored it to its owner, and the capataz walked out, doubtless satisfied with the quality of the spirit he had imbibed, and cautiously continued his way. On reaching the plaza again, the man of the pulquería, who was probably going the same road as himself, was at his heels.
"Belhumeur?" the capataz asked in a low voice, without turning round.
"Eh?" the other answered in the same key.
"The general knows the affair at the convent; if you do not make haste, Don Martial, Don Antonio, and the two ladies will be attacked on the road while going to the quinta; warn your friend, for there is not a moment to lose. Devil take the cigarette!" he added, throwing it away, "it has gone out."
When he turned back, Belhumeur had disappeared; the Canadian with his characteristic agility was already running in the direction of Valentine's house. As for the capataz, as he was in no particular hurry, he quietly walked back to the general's, where he found his master in a furious passion with all his people, and more particularly with himself.
By an accident, too portentous not to have been arranged beforehand, not one of his horses could be mounted; three were foundered, four others had been bled, and the last three were without shoes. In the midst of this the capataz arrived with a look of alarm, which only heightened his master's passion. Carnero prudently allowed the general's fury to grow a little calm, and then answered him.
He proved to him in the first place that he would commit a serious act of imprudence by himself starting in pursuit of the fugitives in the present state of affairs, and especially on the eve of a pronunciamiento which was about to decide his fortunes. Then he remarked to him that six peons, commanded by a resolute man, would be sufficient to conquer two men probably badly armed, and, in addition, shut up in a carriage with two ladies, whom they would not expose to the risk of being killed. These reasons being good, the general listened and yielded to them.
"Very good," he said; "Carnero, you are one of my oldest servants, and to you I entrust the duty of bringing back my niece."
The capataz made a wry face.
"There will be probably plenty of blows to receive, and very little profit to derive from such an expedition."
"I believed that you were devoted to me," the general remarked bitterly.
"Your excellency is not mistaken; I am truly devoted to you, but I have also a fondness for my skin."
"I will give you twenty-five ounces for every slit it receives; is that enough?"
"Come, I see that your excellency wishes me to be cut into mincemeat!" the capataz exclaimed joyously.
"Then that is agreed?"
"I should think so, excellency; at that price a man would be a fool to refuse."
"But about horses?"
"We have at least ten or a dozen in the corral."
"That is true; I did not think of that," the general exclaimed, striking his forehead; "have seven lassoed at once."
"Where must I take the señorita?"
"Bring her to this house, for she shall not set foot in the convent again."
"Very good; when shall I start, general?"
"At once, if it be possible."
"In twenty minutes I shall have left the house."
But the general's impatience was so great that he accompanied his capataz to the corral, watched all the preparations for the departure, and did not return to his apartments till he was certain that Carnero had started in pursuit of the fugitives, with the peons he had selected.
In the meanwhile the carriage dashed along; it passed at full gallop through the San Lázaro gate, then turned suddenly to the right, and entered a somewhat narrow street. At about the middle of this street it stopped before a house of rather modest appearance, the gate of which at once opened, and a man came out holding the bridles of two prairie mustangs completely harnessed, and with a rifle at each saddle-bow. The Frenchman got out, and invited his companion to follow his example.
"Resume your usual dress," he said, as he led him inside the house.
The Tigrero obeyed with an eager start of joy. While he doffed his gown, his companion mounted, after saying to the young ladies—
"Whatever happens, not a word—not a cry; keep the shutters up; we will gallop at the door, and remember your lives are in peril."
Martial at this moment came out of the house attired as a caballero.
"To horse, and let us be off," said Mr. Rallier.
The Tigrero bounded onto the mustang held in readiness for him, and the carriage, in which the mules had been changed, started again at full speed. The house at which they had stopped was the one hired by Valentine to keep his stud at.
Half an hour thus passed, and the carriage disappeared in the thick cloud of dust it raised as it dashed along. Don Martial felt new born; the excitement had restored his old ardour as if by enchantment; he longed to be face to face with his foe, and at length come to a settlement with him. The Frenchman was calmer; though brave to rashness, it was with secret anxiety he foresaw the probability of a fight, in which his sister might be wounded; still he was resolved, in the event of the worst, to confront the danger, no matter the number of men who ventured to attack them.
All at once the Indian uttered a cry. The two men looked back, and saw a body of men coming up at full speed. At this moment the carriage was following a road bounded on one side by a rather thick chaparral, on the other by a deep ravine.
At a sign from the Frenchman the carriage was drawn across the road, and the ladies got out; went, under Curumilla's protection, to seek shelter behind the trees. The two men, with their rifles to their shoulders and fingers on the triggers, stood firmly in the middle of the road, awaiting the onset of their adversaries, for, in all probability, the newcomers were enemies.
Curumilla, after concealing, with that Indian skill he so thoroughly possessed, the young ladies at a spot where they were thoroughly protected from bullets, had placed himself, rifle in hand, not by the side of the two riders, but, with characteristic redskin prudence, he ambuscaded himself behind the carriage, probably reflecting that he represented the entire infantry force, and not caring, through a point of honour, very absurd in his opinion, to expose himself to a death not only certain, but useless to those he wished to defend.
The horsemen, however, on coming within range of the persons they were pursuing, stopped, and by their gestures seemed to evince a hesitation the fugitives did not at all understand, after the fashion in which they had hitherto been pursued. The motive for this hesitation, which the Frenchman and his companions could not know, and which perplexed them so greatly, was very simple.
Carnero, for it was the general's capataz who was pursuing the carriage, with his peons, all at once perceived, with a secret pleasure, it is true, though he was careful not to let his companions notice it, that while they were pursuing the carriage, other horsemen were pursuing them, and coming up at headlong speed. On seeing this, as we said, the party halted, much disappointed and greatly embarrassed as to what they had better do.
They were literally placed between two fires, and were the attacked instead of the assailants; the situation was critical, and deserved serious consideration. Carnero suggested a retreat, remarking, with a certain amount of reason, that the sides were no longer equal, and that success was highly problematical. The peons, all utter ruffians, and expressly chosen by the general, but who entertained a profound respect for the integrity of their limbs, and were but very slightly inclined to have them injured in so disadvantageous a contest with people who would not recoil, were disposed to follow the advice of the capataz and retire, before a retreat became impossible.
Unhappily, the Zaragate was among the peons. Believing, from his conversation with the colonel, that he knew better than anyone the general's intentions, and attracted by the hope of a rich reward if he succeeded in delivering him of his enemy, that is to say, in killing Valentine; and, moreover, probably impelled by the personal hatred he entertained for the hunter, he would not listen to any observation, and swore with horrible oaths that he would carry out the general's orders at all hazards, and that, since the persons they were ordered to stop were only a few paces before them, they ought not to retire until they had, at least, attempted to perform their duty; and that if his comrades were such cowards as to desert him, he would go on alone at his own risk, certain that the general would be satisfied with the way in which he behaved.
After a declaration so distinct and peremptory, any hesitation became impossible, the more so as the horsemen were rapidly coming up, and if the capataz hesitated much longer he would be attacked in the rear. Thus driven out of his last entrenchment, and compelled against his will to fight, Carnero gave the signal to push on ahead.
But the peons had scarce started, ere three shots were fired, and three men rolled in the dust. The newcomers, in this way, warned their friends to hold their ground, and that they were bringing help. The dismounted peons were not wounded, though greatly shaken by their fall, and unable to take part in the fight; their horses alone were hit, and that so cleverly, that they at once fell.
"Eh, eh!" the capataz said, as he galloped on; "these pícaros have a very sure hand. What do you think of it?"
"I say that there are still four of us; that is double the number of those waiting for us down there, and we are sufficient to master them."
"Don't be too sure, my good friend, Zaragate," the capataz said with a grin; "they are men made of iron, who must be killed twice over before they fall."
The Tigrero and his companions had heard shots and seen the peons bite the dust.
"There is Valentine," said the Frenchman.
"I believe so," Don Martial replied.
"Shall we charge?"
"Yes."
And digging in their spurs, they dashed at the peons.
Valentine and his two comrades, Belhumeur and Black Elk (for the Frenchman was not mistaken, it was really the hunter coming up, whom the Canadian had warned) fell on the peons simultaneously with Don Martial and his companion.
A terrible, silent, and obstinate struggle went on for some minutes between these nine men; the foes had seized each other round the body, as they were too close to use firearms, and tried to stab each other. Nothing was heard but angry curses and panting, but not a word or cry, for what is the use of insulting when you can kill?
The Zaragate, so soon as he recognized the hunter, dashed at him. Valentine, although taken off his guard, offered a vigorous resistance; the two men were entwined like serpents, and, in their efforts to dismount each other, at last both fell, and rolled beneath the feet of the combatants who, without thinking of them, or perceiving their fall, continued to attack each other furiously.
The hunter was endowed with great muscular strength and unequalled science and agility; but on this occasion he had found an adversary worthy of him. The Zaragate, some years younger than Valentine, and possessed of his full bodily strength, while urged on by the love of a rich reward, made superhuman efforts to master his opponent and plunge his navaja into his throat. Several times had each of them succeeded in getting the other underneath, but, as so frequently happens in wrestling, a sudden movement of the shoulders or loins had changed the position of the adversaries and brought the one beneath who a moment previously had been on the top.
Still Valentine felt that his strength was becoming exhausted; the unexpected resistance he met with from an enemy apparently so little worthy of him, exasperated him and made him lose his coolness. Collecting all his remaining vigour to attempt a final and decisive effort, he succeeded in getting his enemy once again under him, and pinned him down; but at the same moment Valentine uttered a cry of pain and rolled on the ground—a horse's kick had broken his left arm.
The Zaragate sprang up with a tiger's bound, and bursting into a yell of delight, placed his knee on his enemy's chest, at the same time as he prepared to bury his navaja in his heart. Valentine felt that he was lost, and did not attempt to avoid the death that threatened him.
"Poor Louis," he merely said, looking firmly and intrepidly at the bandit.
"Ah, ah!" the Zaragate said, with a ferocious grin, "I hold my vengeance at length, accursed Trail-hunter."
He did not complete the sentence; suddenly seized by his long hair, while a knee, thrust between his shoulders, forced him to bend back, he saw, as in a horrible dream, a ferocious face grinning above his head. With a fearful groan he rolled on the ground; a knife had been buried in his heart, while his scalp, which was suddenly removed, left his denuded skull to inundate with blood the ground around.