“What of it?” she answered, sullenly; “can I help it if I am pretty, and men fight for me? Also, who are you who ask me whether I am afraid?”
“Fool!” cried the barber from the doorstep; “do you dare to speak thus to the Lord of the Heart?”
The girl started, and replied:
“Why not? Is he then my lord?”
“Listen, girl!” I said; “others besides these have died through you.”
“How do you know that?” she answered. “But what need to ask? If you are the Lord of the Heart you have the evil eye, and can read secrets without their being discovered to you.”
“It is you that have the evil eye, woman, like many another of your sex!” I said. “Hear me, now: you will leave this place, and you will never return to it, for if you do, you die! Also, remember that if harm should come to any more men on your account, wherever you go I shall know of it, and you will die there!”
“Whoever you are, you are not the Government, and have no right to kill me,” she said, trying to hide the fear which crept into her dark eyes.
“No, woman, I am not the Government; but among our people I am more powerful than the Government. If you do not believe me, ask the doctor yonder, and he will tell you that I should be obeyed, even by people who had never seen me, where a troop of soldiers would be laughed at. If I say that you are to die, you will die in this way or in that, for my curse will be on you. Perhaps you may tumble over a precipice, or you may take a fever, or be drowned in crossing a river, quien sabe!”
“I know, lord, I know,” she whispered, shivering, for now she was frightened. “Do not look so terribly at me; spare me this time for the love of God! I did not mean to do it, but when men put their hearts into a woman’s hand, how can she help squeezing them, especially if she hates men? But I did not hate this one,” and she touched the cheek of the dead Indian caressingly; “I really meant to marry him. It is that fellow whom I hate,” pointing to her wounded lover, “and I hope that he will be shot, else I think that I shall poison him.”
“You will not poison him, woman; and, though he deserves to die, you are worse than he. Now begone, and remember my words!”
Bending down, she touched the corpse’s forehead with her lips, then, rising, said:
“I kiss your feet, Lord of the Heart,” and went away without looking behind her, nor was she seen again in that village.
Then, with a sigh, I also was turning to go, for it saddened me to think that when drink got hold of them, a woman should have the power to change these men, who were my brethren, into savage beasts thirsting for each other’s blood.
“Ah!” I mused, “had it not been for that other woman who destroyed me and my hope, by now I had begun to teach them better.”
At this moment, looking up, I chanced to see a man such as I had never before beheld, standing by my side and gazing at me. Stories are told of how men and women, looking on each other for the first time, in certain cases are filled with a strange passion of love, of which, come what may, they can not again be rid.
Among many misfortunes, thanks be to my guardian angels, this fate has never overtaken me, yet at that moment I felt something that was akin to it—not love, indeed, but a great sense of friendship and sympathy for and with this man, which, mastering me then, is still growing to this hour, though its object has for many years been dead.
Perhaps it was the contrast between us that attracted me so much at first, since human beings are ever drawn towards their opposites in nature and appearance. I, as you, my friend, for whom I write this history, will remember, although you have only known me in my age, am tall, thin, and sallow, like all my race, with a sad expression reflecting the heart within, and melancholy eyes.
Very different were the mind and appearance of James Strickland, the Englishman. He was a fine man, over thirty years of age, short in proportion to his width, though somewhat spare in frame and slender in limb. His features were as clearly cut as those of an ancient god upon a marble wall; his eyes were blue as the sea, and, though just now they were troubled at the sight of death, merry like the eyes of a boy; his curling hair—for he had removed his hat in the presence of the dead—was yellow as mimosa bloom, darkening almost to red in the short beard and about the ears, where the weather had caught it; and beneath his shirt, which was open at the neck, his skin showed white like milk. For the rest, his hands were long and delicate, notwithstanding the hard work of which they bore traces; his glance was quick, and his smile the most pleasant that ever I had seen.
“Your pardon, señor,” said this Inglese, in good Spanish, bowing to me as he spoke, “but unwittingly I have overheard some of your talk with yonder woman, and I cannot understand how it comes about that you, a stranger, have so much authority over her. I wish that you would explain it to me in order that I might learn how to put a stop to such murders. These dead men were two of my best workmen, and I do not know where I shall look to replace them.”
“I cannot explain it, señor,” I answered, returning his bow, “further than to say that I have a certain rank among the Indians, on account of which they reverence me. Still, though I have no right to ask it of a stranger, I pray that you will forget any words of mine which may chance to have reached your ears, since of such authority the Government is jealous.”
“By all means, señor; they are already forgotten. Well, adios, this sight is not so pleasant that I wish to study it,” and replacing his hat upon his head, he passed on.
Although my journey proved to be in vain, seeing that the scroll I came to read had vanished, I lingered in the village of Cumarvo, alleging as the reason of my stay a hope that it might be discovered, but really, as I believe, because I desired to become friendly with this white man.
As it chanced, an opportunity was soon given me to do him a signal service. I have stated that there dwelt men of position in this place, Mexicans who were jealous of the Englishman, and these people stirred up some discontented miners in his employ to make a plot to murder him, saying that, if they did so, they would win a great treasure which he kept hidden in his house.
This plot came to my ears through one of the Brotherhood, and I determined to frustrate it, to which end I collected together twenty good men and true, and, arming them with guns, bade them be silent about the matter, above all to the Inglese, whom I did not wish to alarm.
The plan of the murderers was at the hour of dawn to attack the house where the Señor Strickland slept with four or five servants only, and to put all within its walls to death. Accordingly, about one o’clock on the night fixed, I despatched my men by twos and threes, instructing them to go round the hills at the back of the house, and, creeping into the garden, to hide themselves there among the trees till I appeared.
An hour later I followed them myself without being observed by the spies of the attacking party, for rain fell and the night was very dark. Arriving in the garden, I collected my men, and placed them in ambush under a low wall commanding the street, up which I knew the murderers must come. Here we waited patiently till the cocks crew and the dawn began to break in the east.
Presently we heard a stir in the village beneath, as of men marching, and in the gathering light we saw the murderers creeping stealthily up the street to the number of fifty or more. So great was their fear of the Englishman, that they thought it safer to bring many men to kill him, also each of the villains desired that his neighbour should be a sharer in the crime.
“Will you not wake up the Inglese?” asked the man next to me.
“No,” I answered, “it will be time enough to wake him when the affair is settled. Let none of you fire till I give the word.”
Now, the brigands in the street below,—men without shame,—after waiting a little time for the light to grow stronger, advanced toward the gate, looking like a procession of monks, for the air was chilly and each of them wore his serape wrapped about his head. In their hands they carried rifles and drawn machetes.
Within ten paces of the gate they paused for a minute to consult, and I heard their leader, a Mexican, direct half of them to creep round to the back of the house so as to cut off all escape. Then I whistled, which was the signal agreed upon, at the same time covering the Mexican with my rifle. Almost before the sound had left my lips, there followed a report of twenty guns, and some fifteen or sixteen of the enemy were stretched upon the ground.
For a moment they wavered, and I thought that the rest of them were going to fly, but this they dared not do, for they knew that they had been seen; therefore they rushed at the wall with a yell, firing as they came. As they climbed over it we met them with pistol shots and machetes, and for a few minutes the affair was sharp, for they were desperate, and outnumbered us.
Still they lost many men in scaling the wall and forcing the gate, and with the exception of fourteen who fled, and were for the most part caught afterwards, the rest of them we finished amongst the flowers and vegetables of the garden. Just as all was over, the Englishman, who was a sound sleeper, appeared yawning, dressed in white, and holding a pistol in his hand.
“What is this noise?” he asked, rubbing his eyes, “and why are you people fighting in my garden? Go away, all of you, or I shall shoot at you.”
“I trust,” I said, bowing, “that the señor will pardon us for disturbing him in his slumber, but this matter could not be settled without some noise. May I offer the señor my serape? The air is chilly, and he will catch cold in that dress.”
“Thank you,” he said, putting on the serape. “And now perhaps you will explain why you come to spoil my garden by making a battle-field of it.”
Then I told him, and was astonished to see that as I went on he grew very angry.
“I suppose that I must thank you, gentlemen, for saving my life,” he said at last, “though I never asked you to do it. But, all the same, I think it shameless that you should have had this fight in my own garden, without giving me the opportunity of sharing it. Caramba! am I a little girl that I should be treated in such a way?” And of a sudden he burst out laughing and shook me by the hand.
That day, when all the trouble was over, and the place had been made tidy, the Señor Strickland sent a man to ask if I would do him the pleasure to dine with him. I accepted, and as we sat smoking after dinner, having talked of the fight till we were tired of it, he spoke thus to me:
“Don Ignatio, I owe you my life, and, believe me, I am grateful, for I do not see why you should have risked so much for a foreign stranger.”
“I did it because I like you, señor,” I answered, “also because it is very pleasant to catch the wicked in their own toils. Those who perished this morning were villains, every one of them. They came in the hope of plunder, for such ‘men without shame’ will murder human beings for five dollars a head; but they were set on by others who hate you because you treat your Indian workmen fairly, and also because they do not wish foreigners here to compete with them, and think that you are but the first bird of the flock. Therefore they thought that it would be good policy to kill you so as to frighten away others who might follow. However, that danger has gone by, and you need have no more fear, for they have learnt a lesson which they will not forget.”
“So much the better then,” he answered, “for I have troubles enough to deal with here, without being bothered to protect my life against such contemptible vermin. And now, Don Ignatio, I hardly like to ask you, and I daresay that you will think the offer beneath contempt, but are you willing to accept an engagement? I am sadly in need of a sub-manager, one who could control the Indians, and to such a man I am prepared to pay a hundred dollars a month; the funds of the company I represent will not allow me to offer more.”
I thought for a while and answered:
“Señor, the money is not enough to tempt me, though it will serve to buy food, lodging, and cigars, but I accept your offer for the same reason that I fought your battles this morning, because I like you, and will gladly do my best to serve you and your interests. Still, I must warn you that, for aught I know, I may have to leave your service at short notice, for my time is not altogether my own. I also am the servant of a great company, señor, and though now I am on leave, as it were, and have been for these many years, I may be required at any moment.”
Thus it was, then, that I entered the service of the Señor James Strickland, or rather of his company, in which I continued for something more than a year, working very hard, for the señor did not spare either me or himself. But as the records of those months of fruitless labour could have little interest for you, my friend, instead of writing of them, I will tell you in few words what was the history of this Englishman as he told it to me.
He was of noble blood, as might be seen in his face, for he had a right to be addressed as “honourable,” which it would seem means more in England than it does here. Nevertheless, his father was a priest of the heretic church and quite poor, though, how this came about, you, being an Englishman, will understand better than I, seeing that in most countries it is the privilege of nobles to enrich themselves at the expense of others of less rank.
At any rate, when James Strickland’s father died, his son, who was then a lad of twenty, found that he possessed in the world no more than five thousand dollars. This sum, being of adventurous mind and sanguine temperament, he invested in a ranch in Texas, where he endured much danger and hardship, and lost all his money.
After this experience, having nothing to live on and no friends, he was obliged to labour with his hands like a peon, and this he did in many ways. He broke horses, he herded cattle; once, even, for two months he sank so low—it makes me angry to write of it—as to be forced to wait upon the guests in an inn at Panama.
Thence he drifted to Nicaragua, and became mixed up in mining ventures, and when first I met him he had been a miner for ten years. Most of this time he spent managing a mine for an American, in the Chontales country, on the frontier of Honduras, where the fever is so bad that few white men can live. Here it was that he learned to speak Spanish and the Indian or Maya tongue. At length, after an attack of fever which nearly killed him, he left Honduras, and came to Mexico, where he accepted the management of this silver mine at Cumarvo. Hitherto it had been worked by a Mexican on behalf of its owners, who dismissed the rogue for stealing the ore and selling it.
This mine, though very rich, was hard to deal with profitably because of the water gathered in it, and all the months that the Señor Strickland had been its captain he was employed in driving a tunnel upwards from a lower level in the cliff, in order to drain the workings. Shortly after I came into his service this tunnel was finished, for now I was able to obtain plenty of labour, which before he had lacked, and we began to bring to bank ore running as high as two hundred ounces to the ton, so that for some months all went well.
Then of a sudden the ore body dipped straight downward, as though it had been bent when hot, and we followed it till the water increased so much that we were unable to carry it out, for in those days there were no steam pumps in Mexico, such as are now used for the drying of mines. First we tried to strike another vein, but without success; then we attempted to pierce a second drainage tunnel at a still lower level, but, after more than three months’ labour, the rock became so hard that we were obliged to abandon the task.
Now there was nothing to be done except to stop work at the tunnel, and report the matter by letter to the owners of the mine, employing ourselves meanwhile in the smelting of such ore as we had stacked. This, indeed, we needed to do in order to pay wages with the silver, seeing that after the first few months the owners ceased to remit us money.
One evening, on returning from the smelting-works to the house, I found the Señor Strickland, his chin resting on his hand and an unlighted cigar in his mouth, seated at a table, on which lay an open letter. All through our misfortunes and heavy labour he had never lost heart, or forgotten to smile and be merry, but now he looked sad as a man who has just buried his mother, and I asked him what evil thing had happened.
“Nothing particular, Ignatio,” he answered; “but listen here.” And he read the letter aloud.
It was from one of the owners of the mine, and this was the purport of it: that the shaft had become choked with water because of the incompetence and neglect of the señor; that they, the owners, hereby dismissed him summarily, refusing to pay him the salary due; and, lastly, that they held him responsible in his own person for such money as they had lost.
“Surely,” I cried in wrath, when he had finished, “this letter was written by a man without shame, and I pray that he may find his grave in the stomachs of hogs and vultures!” for I forgot myself in my indignation against those that could speak thus of the señor, who had slaved day and night in their service, giving himself no rest.
“Do not trouble, Ignatio,” he said, with a little smile, “it is the way of the world. I have failed, and must take the consequences. Had I succeeded, there would have been a different story. Still I think that, if ever I meet this man again, I will kick him for telling lies about me. Do you know, Ignatio, that, with the exception of one thousand dollars which remain to my credit in Mexico, I have spent all my own money that I had saved upon this mine, and of that thousand dollars, eight hundred are due to you for back pay, so, whatever trade I take to next, I shall not begin as a rich man.”
“Be silent, I beg of you, señor,” I answered, “for such words make my ears burn. What! am I also a thief that I should rob you, you who have already been plucked like a fowl for the good of others? Insult me once more by such thoughts and I will never pardon you.”
And I left the house to calm myself by walking among the mountains, little knowing what I should hear before I entered it again.
As I walked down the street of the village I met my friend, with whom I had stayed when first I came to Cumarvo.
“Ah! lord,” he said—for those who are initiated among the Indians give me this title when none are by—“I was seeking you. The scroll has been found.”
“What scroll?”
“That picture-writing about the ancient mine which brought you here. You remember that he who owned the document died, and his son could not discover its whereabouts. Well, yesterday he found it by chance while he was hunting rats in the roof of his house, and brought it to me. Here it is,” and he gave me a roll wrapped in yellow linen.
“Good,” I answered, “I will study it to-night,” and continued my walk, thinking little more about the matter, for my mind was full of other things.
The air was pleasant and the evening fine, so that I did not return to the house till the moon rose. As I passed up the path a man stepped so suddenly from the shelter of a bush in front of me, that I drew my machete, thinking that he meant to do me a mischief.
“Stay your hand, lord,” said the man, saluting me humbly, and at the same time giving the sign of brotherhood. “It is many years since we met, so perchance you may have forgotten me; still, you will remember my name; I am Molas, your foster-brother.”
Then I looked at him in the moonlight and knew him, though time had changed us both, and, putting my arms round him, I embraced him, seeing that he had been faithful when many deserted me, and I loved him as to-day I love his memory.
“What brings you here, Molas?” I asked; “when last I heard of you, you were dwelling far away in Chiapas.”
“A strange matter: Business of the Heart, O Lord of the Heart, which I deemed so pressing that I have journeyed over land and sea to find you. Have you a place where I can speak with you alone?”
“Follow me,” I said, wondering, and led him to my own chamber, where I gave him food and drink, for he was weary with travel.
“Now set out this business,” I said.
“First show me the token, lord. I desire to see it once more for a purpose of my own.”
I rose and closed the shutters of the window, then I bared my breast, revealing the ancient symbol. For a while he gazed upon it, and said, “It is enough. Tell me, lord, what is the saying that has descended with this trinket.”
“The saying is, Molas, that when this half that I wear is reunited with the half that is wanting, then the Indians shall rule again from sea to sea, as they did when the Heart was whole.”
“That is the saying, lord. We learn it in the ritual that is called ‘Opening of the Heart,’ do we not? and in this ritual that half which you wear is named ‘Day’ since it can be seen, and that half which is lost is named ‘Night,’ since, though present, it is not seen, and it is told to us that the ‘Day’ and the ‘Night’ together will make one perfect circle, whereof the centre is named the ‘Heart of Heaven,’ of which these things are the symbol. Is it not so?”
“It is so, Molas.”
“Good. Now listen. That which was lost is found, the half which is named ‘Night’ has appeared in the land, for I have seen it with my eyes, and it is to tell you of it that I have travelled hither.”
“Speak on,” I said.
“Lord, yonder in Chiapas there is a ruined temple that the antiguos built, and to that temple have come a man and a woman, his daughter. The man is old and fierce-eyed, a terrible man, and the girl is beautiful exceedingly. There in the ruins they have dwelt these four months and more, and the man practises the art of medicine, for he is a great doctor, and has wrought many cures, though he takes no money in payment for his skill, but food only.
“Now it chanced, lord, that my wife, whom I married but two years ago, was very sick,—so sick that the village doctor could do nothing for her. Therefore the fame of the old Indian who dwelt in the ruined temple having reached me, I determined to visit him and seek his counsel, or, if possible, to bring him to my home.
“When my wife heard of it, she said it was of no use, as she saw Death sitting at the foot of her bed. Still I kissed her and went, leaving her in charge of the padre of the village and some women, her sisters. With me I took a lock of her hair, and some fowls and eggs as a present to the Lacandone, for they said that, though of our race, this doctor was not a Christian.
“Starting before the dawn I travelled all day by the river and through the forest, till at evening I came to the ruined temple which I knew, and began to climb its broken stair. As I neared the top, a man appeared from beneath the leaning arch that is the gateway of the stair, and stood gazing at the ball of the setting sun. He was an aged man, clad in a linen robe only, very light in colour, with long white beard and hair, a nose hooked like a hawk’s beak, and fierce eyes that seemed to pierce those he looked upon and to read their most secret thoughts.
“‘Greeting, brother,’ he said, speaking in our own tongue, but with a strange accent, and using many words which are unknown to me, ‘What brings you here?’
“Then he looked at me awhile, and asked slowly:
“‘Say, brother, are you sick at heart?’
“Now, lord, when I heard those words whereof you know the meaning, I was so astounded that I almost fell backwards down the ruined stair, but, recovering myself, I tried him with a sign, and lo, he answered it. Then I tried him with the second sign, and the third, and the fourth, and so on up to the twelfth, and he answered them all, though not always as we use them. Then I paused, and he said:
“‘You have passed the door of the Sanctuary, enter, brother, and draw on to the Altar.’
“But I shook my head, for I could not. Next he tried me with various signs and strange words that have to do with the inmost mysteries, but I was not able to answer them, though at times I saw their drift.
“‘You have some knowledge,’ he said, ‘yet you do but stand at the foot of the pyramid, whereas I watch the stars from its crest, warming my hands at the eternal fire.’
“‘None of my order have more, lord,’ I answered, ‘save the very highest.’
“‘Then there are higher in the land?’ he asked eagerly, but started suddenly, and, looking round, went on without waiting for an answer, ‘You are in sorrow, Child of the Heart, and have come from one who was sick to the death; to your business, and perchance we will speak of these matters afterwards.’
“‘First, lord,’ I said, ‘I have brought an offering,’ and I set down the basket at his feet.
“‘Gifts are good between brethren,’ he replied; ‘moreover, in this barren place food is welcome. Come hither, daughter, and take what this stranger brings.’
“As he spoke a lady came forward through the archway, dressed like her father, in a white robe of fine fabric, but somewhat worn. I looked at her, and it is truth, lord, that for the second time I went near to falling, for so great was the loveliness of this girl that my heart turned to water within me. Never before had I seen, or even dreamed of, such beauty in a woman.”
“To your tale, Molas, to your tale. What has the fashion of a woman’s beauty to do with the business of the Heart?” I broke in, angrily.
“I do not know, lord,” he answered; “and yet I think that it has to do with all earthly things.” Then he continued:
“The lady, whose name was Maya, looked at me carelessly, and took the basket. Following her through the archway to the terrace beyond, I set out the matter of my wife’s illness to the doctor—or rather to him who passes as a doctor, and who is named Zibalbay, or Watcher—praying that he would come to the village and minister to her.
“He listened in silence, then took the lock of hair that I had brought with me, and, going to a fire that burned near by, he laid some of the hair upon an ember and watched it as it writhed and shrivelled away.
“‘It would be of little use, brother,’ he said, sadly, ‘seeing that your wife is now dead. I felt her spirit pass us as we talked together in the gateway; still, until I burnt the hair, I did not know whether it was she who went by, or another.’
“Here I may tell you, lord, that, as I found afterwards, my wife departed at that very hour of sunset, though whether the doctor, Zibalbay, guessed that she must die then from the symptoms which I described to him, or whether he has the spirit sight, and saw her, I do not know.
“Still, it seems natural that at that moment of her passing she should come to bid farewell to the husband whom she loved, though I think it is a bad omen for me, and I pray that I may never see that place again. At the least, when I heard him speak thus I did not doubt his truth, for something within me confirmed it, but I hid my face and groaned aloud in the bitterness of my grief.
“Then, taking my hand, Zibalbay, the Watcher, spoke great words to me in a solemn voice that seemed to soothe me as the song of a mother soothes a restless child, for he talked with certainty as one who has knowledge and vision of those who have gone beyond, telling me that this parting was not for long, and that soon I should find her whom I had lost made glorious and folded close to the Heart of Heaven. Then he laid his hand upon my head, and I slept awhile, to wake, sad, indeed, but filled with a strange peace.
“‘Food is ready, my brother,’ said Zibalbay. ‘Eat and rest here this night; to-morrow you can return.’
“Now when we had eaten, Zibalbay spoke to me in the presence of his daughter, who, though a woman, is also of the Order, saying:
“‘You are of our Brotherhood, therefore the words I speak will be repeated to none who are not brethren, for I speak upon the Heart.’
“‘I hear with the Ears, lord,’ I answered.
“‘Listen!’ he went on. ‘I come from far with this maiden, my daughter, and we are not what we seem, but who and what we are now is not the hour to tell. This is the purpose of our coming—to find that which is one, but divided; that which is not lost, but hidden. Perchance, brother, you can point the path to it,’ and he paused and looked at me with his piercing eyes.
“Now, lord, I understood to what his words had reference, for are they not part of the ritual of the service ‘Opening of the Heart?’ Still, because I desired to be sure, and not commit myself, I picked up a piece of burnt wood, and, as though in idleness, bent down, and, by the light of the fire, I drew the half of a heart with a saw-like edge upon the pavement of the chamber where we sat. Then I handed the stick to Zibalbay, who took it and passed it on to his daughter, saying:
“‘I have no skill at such arts; finish it, Maya.’
“She smiled, and, kneeling down, traced the half of a face within the outline that I had drawn, saying:
“‘Is it enough, or do you need the writing also?’
“‘It is enough,’ I answered. ‘Now, lord, what do you desire?’
“‘I desire to know where that which is hidden can be brought to light, and if it dwells in this land, for I have journeyed far to seek it.’
“‘It dwells here,’ I answered, ‘for I have beheld it with my eyes, and he guards it who is its keeper.’
“‘Can you lead me to him, brother?’
“‘No, for I have no such commands; but perhaps I can bring him to you, though I must journey by sea and land to find him—that is, if he wills to come. Say, what message shall I give? That a stranger whom I have met desires to look upon the holy symbol? It will scarcely bring him so far.’
“‘Nay, tell him that the hour is come for “Night” and “Day” to be joined together, that a new sun may shine in a new sky.’
“‘I can tell him this, but will he believe it, seeing that I have no proof? Will he not rather think that some cunning stranger and false brother lays a plot to trap him? Give me proofs, lord, or I do not start upon this errand.’
“‘Will he believe that which you have seen with your eyes?’
“‘He will believe it, for he has trusted me from childhood.’
“‘Then look!’ said the man, and, opening his robe at the neck, he kneeled down in the light of the fire.
“There, lord, upon his breast hung that which has been hidden from our sight since the sons of Quetzal, the god, ruled in the land, the counterpart of the severed symbol which is upon your breast. That is all my story, lord.”
* * * * * * *
Now I, Ignatio, listened amazed, for the thing was marvellous.
“Did the man send me no further message?” I asked.
“None. He said that if you were a true keeper of the mystery you would come to learn his mission from himself, or bring him to you.”
“And did you tell him anything of me and of my history, Molas?”
“Nothing; I had no such command. On the morrow at dawn I left to bury my wife, if she were dead, or to nurse her if she still were sick, saying that so soon as might be I would travel to the city of Mexico to seek out the Keeper of the Heart and give him this tidings, and that within eight weeks or less I trusted to report how I had fared. The old man asked me if I had money, and without waiting to be answered he gave me two handfuls of lumps of moulded gold from a hide bag, whereof each lump was stamped with the symbol of the Heart.”
“Let me see one,” I said.
“Alas! my lord Ignatio, I have none. Not far from the ruined temple where this Zibalbay and his daughter sojourned, is the hacienda of Santa Cruz, and there, as you may have heard, dwell a gang of men under the leadership of one Don Pedro Moreno, who are by profession smugglers, highway robbers, and murderers, though they pretend to earn a living by the cultivation of coffee and cocoa.
“As it chanced, in journeying homewards, I fell into the hands of some of these men. They searched me, and, finding the lumps of gold in my pocket, handed them over to Don Pedro himself, who rode up when he saw that they had the fish in their net. He examined the gold closely, and asked me whence it came. At first I refused to answer, whereupon he said that I should be confined in a dungeon at the hacienda until such time as I chose to speak.
“Then, being mad to get back to my village and learn the fate of my wife, I found my tongue and spoke the truth, saying that the gold was given in exchange for food by an old Indian doctor, who dwelt with his daughter in a ruined temple in the forest.
“‘Mother of Heaven!’ said Don Pedro, ‘I have heard of this man before; but now I know the kind of merchandise in which he trades, I think that I must pay him a visit and learn what mint it was stamped at.’
“Then, having plucked me bare as a fowl for the oven, they let me go without hurt, but often I have sorrowed because, in my hour of haste and need, I told them whence the gold came, since I fear lest I should thus have let loose these villains upon the old wanderer and his daughter, and in that case they may well be murdered before ever you can reach them.”
“Doubtless Heaven will protect them,” I answered, “though you acted foolishly. But tell me, Molas, how did you find me out and come here without money?”
“I had some money at home, lord, and when I had buried my wife I travelled to Frontera on the coast, where I found a ship bound for Vera Cruz, and in her I sailed, giving my service as a sailor, which is a trade that I have followed. From Vera Cruz I made my way to Mexico, and reported myself to the head of the Brotherhood in that city, who, as I expected, was able to give me tidings of you.
“Then I came on to this village, and arrived here to-night, having been a month and two days on my journey. And now, lord, if you can, give me a place to sleep in, since I am weary, who for three days have scarcely shut my eyes. To-morrow you can let me know what answer I must bear to the old man, Zibalbay.”
* * * * * * *
I, Ignatio, sat late that night pondering over these tidings, which filled me with a strange hope. Could it be that my hour of success was at hand after so many years of waiting? If there were truth in prophecies it would seem so, and yet my faith wavered. This traveller, whom Molas had seen, might be a madman, and his symbol might be forged. I could not tell, but at least I would put the matter to the proof, for to-morrow, or so soon as was possible, I would journey down to Chiapas and seek him out.
Thinking thus, I threw myself upon my bed and strove to sleep, but could not. Then, remembering the scroll that my friend had given me, I rose, purposing to change my thoughts in studying it and so win sleep. It was a hard task, but at length I mastered its meaning, and found that it dealt with a mine near Cumarvo, and described the exact position of the mouth of the tunnel.
This mouth, it would appear, had been closed up in the reign of Guatemoc, and the scroll was written by the cacique who had charge of the mine in those days, in order that a record might remain that would enable his descendants to reopen it, should a time come when the Spaniards were driven from the land. That the mine was very rich in free gold was shown by the weights of pure metal stated in this scroll to have been sent year by year to the Court of Montezuma by this cacique, and also by the fact that it was thought worth hiding from the Spaniards.
Early on the morrow I went to the room of the Señor Strickland and spoke to him with a heavy heart.
“Señor,” I said, “you will remember that when I entered your service I told you that I might have to leave it at any moment. Now I am here to say that the time is come, for a messenger has arrived to summon me to the other end of Mexico upon business of which I may not speak, and to-morrow I must start upon the journey.”
“I am sorry to hear it, Ignatio,” he answered, “for you have been a good friend to me. Still, you do well to separate your fortunes from those of an unlucky man.”
“And you, señor, do ill to speak thus to me,” I answered with indignation; “still, I forgive you because I know that at times, when the heart is sore, the mouth utters words that are not meant. Listen, señor, when you have eaten your breakfast, will you take a ride with me?”
“Certainly, if you like. But whither do you wish to ride?”
“To another mine that is, or should be, about two hours on horseback from here, in a valley at the foot of yonder peak. I only heard of it last night, though I came to Cumarvo to seek it, and it would seem that it was very rich in Montezuma’s day.”
“In Montezuma’s day?” he said.
“Yes, it was last worked then, and I propose that if we can find it, and it looks well, that you should ‘denounce’ it for yourself, giving a reward of a few dollars to the Indian from whom I had the information, who is a poor man.”
“But if it is so good, why don’t you denounce it, Ignatio; and how did you come to hear about it after all these years?”
“For two reasons, señor; first, because I wish to do you a service if it is in my humble power, and, secondly, because I cannot look after it and must leave you, though to do so will be a true grief to me, for, if you will permit me to say it, never have I met a man for whom I conceived a greater respect and affection. Perhaps, if I return again, you will give me a share in the profits, so that we may grow rich together. And now I will show you how I came to hear of the mine.” And I fetched the scroll, with the translation that I had made, and read it to him.
He listened eagerly, for, like yourself, Señor Jones, your countryman, James Strickland, loved adventure and all things that have to do with the past of this ancient land.
“Let us go at once,” he said when I had finished. “I will order the horses and a mule with the prospecting kit to be got ready. Shall we take men with us?”
“I think not, señor; the mine is not yet found, and the less talk there is about it the better, for if the matter is noised abroad somebody may be before you in denouncing it. The messenger who came to see me last night is a trusty man, but he is weary with journeying, and rests, so we will go alone.”
An hour later we were riding among the mountains, I having left a message for Molas to say that I should return before dark. The trail which we were following was a difficult one, and ran for some miles along the edge of a precipice till it reached the crest of the range. Indeed, so bad was it in parts, that we were forced to dismount and drive the horses and mule before us, while we followed, clinging to the ferns and creepers on the rocks to keep ourselves from falling.
At length we came to the summit of the range, and turned downwards through a forest of oak and fir trees, heading for a valley that lay at the base of a solitary mountain peak, along which ran a stream. Down this stream we rode a mile or more, since I was searching for a certain pointed rock that was mentioned in the scroll as standing by itself on the slope of a mountain where no trees grew, beneath which should be the glen where in the days of Guatemoc was a great ceiba tree that, so said the writing, overshadowed the mouth of the mine.
Riding uphill through a dense grove of oaks, we came presently to the glen that lay just below the slope whereon stood the tall rock.
“This must be the place,” I said, “but I see no ceiba tree.”
“Doubtless it has fallen and rotted since those days,” answered the Señor Strickland. “Let us tether the horses and search.”
This we did, and the hunt was long, for here grasses and ferns grew thick, but at length I discovered a spot where the trunk of a very ancient tree had decayed in the ground, so that nothing remained except the outline of its circle and some of the larger roots.
Round about these roots we sought desperately for an hour or more, but without avail, till at length my companion grew weary of the sport, and went to pull up a small glossy-leaved palm that he had discovered, purposing to take it home and set it in his garden, for he was a great lover of plants and flowers.
While he was thus engaged, and I toiled amongst the grasses looking for the mouth of the mine, which, as I began to think, was lost forever, suddenly he called out, “Come here, Ignatio. Beneath the roots of this palm is refuse rock that has been broken with hammers. I believe that this must have been the platform in front of the mine. One can see that the ground was flat here.”
I came to him, and together we renewed our search, till at length, by good luck, we discovered a hole immediately beneath a rock, large enough for a man to creep into.
“Was this made by a coyote, or is it the mouth of the mine?” the señor asked.
“That we can only find out by entering it,” I answered. “Doubtless when they shut down the mine, the antiguos would have left some such place as this to ventilate the workings. Bring the pickaxe, señor, and we will soon see.”
For ten minutes or more we laboured, working in soft ground with pick and spade till we bared the side of a tunnel, which I examined.
“There is no need to trouble further,” I said, “this rock has been cut with copper chisels, for here is the green of the copper. Without doubt we have found the mouth of the mine. Now give me the hammer and candles, and bring the leather bag for samples, and we will enter.”
When I had gone a few paces down the hole, it widened suddenly, so that we were able to stand upright and light our candles. Now there was no doubt that we were in the tunnel of an old mine, a rudely-dug shaft that turned this way and that as it followed the windings of the ore body.
Along this tunnel we went for thirty or forty paces, creeping over the fallen boulders, and twisting ourselves between the brown stalactites that in the course of ages had formed upon the roof and floor, till presently we reached an obstacle that barred our further progress; a huge mass of rock which at some time or other had fallen from the roof of the tunnel and blocked it. I looked at it, and said:
“Now, señor, I think that we shall have to go back. You remember the writing tells us that this mine, although so rich, was unsafe because of the rottenness of the rock. Doubtless they propped it in the old days, but the timbers have decayed long ago.”
“Yes,” he answered, “we can do nothing here without help, and, Ignatio, I don’t like the look of the roof, it is full of cracks.”
As these last words left his lips a piece of stone, the size of a child’s head, fell from above almost at his feet.
“Speak softly,” I whispered, “the ring of your voice is bringing down the roof.”
Then I stooped to pick up the fallen stone, thinking that it might show ore, and, as I did so, my hand touched something sharp, which I lifted and held to the candle. It was the jawbone of a man, yellow with age, and corroded by damp. I showed it to the señor, and, kneeling down, we examined the bed of the tunnel together, and not uselessly, for there we found the remainder of the skull and some fragments of an arm-bone, but the rest of the skeleton lay under the great boulder in front of us.
“He was coming out of the mine when the rock fell upon him, poor fellow,” whispered the señor. “Look here,” and he pointed to a little heap of something that gleamed in the candle-light.
It was free gold, six or seven ounces of it, almost pure, and for the most part in small nuggets, that once were contained in a bag which had long since rotted away.
Doubtless, after the mine was closed, some Aztec, who knew its secret, had made a practice of working there for his own benefit, till one day, as he was coming out, the rock fell upon him and crushed him, leaving his spirit to haunt the place for ever.
“There is no doubt about this mine being rich,” whispered the señor; “but all the same I think that we had better get out of it. I hear odd noises and rumblings which frighten me. Come, Ignatio,” and he turned to lead the way towards the opening.
Two paces farther I saw him strike his ankle against a piece of rock that stood up some six or eight inches from the floor-bed of the tunnel, and the pain of the blow was so sharp that, forgetting where he was, he called out loudly. The next instant there was a curious sound above me as of something being torn, and, lo! I lay upon my face on the rock, and upon me rested a huge mass of stone.
I say that it rested upon me, but this is not altogether true, for, had it been so, that stone would have killed me at once, as a beetle is killed beneath the foot of a man, instead of taking more than two-and-twenty years to do it. The greater part of its weight was borne by the piece of rock against which the señor had struck his leg, a point of the fallen boulder only pressing into my back and grinding me against the ground. Now we were in darkness, for the señor had been knocked down also, and his candle extinguished, and, in the midst of my tortures, it came into my mind that he must be dead.
Presently, however, I heard his voice, saying, “Ignatio; do you live, Ignatio?”
Now I thought for a moment. Even in my pain I remembered that more of the roof would surely give ere long, and that if my friend stayed here he must die with me. Nothing could save me, I was doomed to a slow death beneath the stone; and yet if I told him this I knew that he would not go. Therefore I answered as strongly as I could:
“Fly, señor, I am safe, and do but stay to light a candle. I will follow you.”
“You are lying to me,” he answered; “your voice comes from the level of the floor.” And as he spoke I heard the scratching sound of a match.
So soon as he had found his candle and lit it, he knelt down and looked at me. Then he examined the roof above, and, following his glance with difficulty, I saw that next to the hole whence the boulder had fallen, hung a huge block of stone, that, surrounded by great cracks from which water dropped, trembled like a leaf whenever he moved or spoke.
“For the love of God, fly,” I whispered. “In a few hours it will be over with me, and you cannot help me. I am a dead man, do not stop here to share my fate.”
For a moment he seemed to hesitate, then his courage came back to him, and he answered hoarsely:
“We entered this place together, friend, and we will go out together, or not at all. You must be fixed by the rock and not crushed, or you would not speak of living for hours. Let me look,” and he lay upon his breast and examined the fallen rock by the light of the candle. “Thank God! there is hope,” he said at last, “the boulder rests on the ground and upon the stone against which I struck my leg, for only one point of it is fixed in your back. Do you think that anything is broken, Ignatio?”
“I cannot say, señor, my pain is great, and I am being slowly crushed to death; but I believe that as yet my bones are whole. Fly, I beg of you.”
“I will not,” he answered sullenly, “I am going to roll this rock off you.”
Then, lifting with all his great strength, he strove to move the stone, but without avail, for it was beyond the power of mortal man to stir it, and all the while the black mass trembled above his head.
“I must go for help,” he said, presently.
“Yes, yes, señor,” I answered, “go for help;” for I knew well that before he could return with any, more of the roof would have fallen, shutting me in to perish by inches, or perhaps crushing the life out of me in mercy. Then I remembered, and added:
“Stay a moment before you go; you are noble, I will give you something. Feel here round my neck, there is a little chain—now, draw it over my head—so. You see a token hangs to it; if ever you are in trouble with the Indians, take their chief man apart and show him this, and he will die for you if need be.
“Englishman, by this gift I have made you heir to the empire of the Aztecs in the heart of every Indian, and the master of the great brotherhood of Mexico. Molas, the messenger, will tell you all and bring you to those who can initiate you. Bid him lead you whither he would have led me. Farewell, and God go with you. Tell the Indians how I died, that they may not think that you have murdered me.”
To these words of mine the señor made no answer, but thrust the token into his pocket without looking at it, like one who dreams. Then, taking the candle with him, he crept forward down the tunnel and vanished, and my heart sank as I saw him go, leaving me to my dreadful fate without a word of farewell.
“Doubtless he is too frightened to speak,” I thought, “and it is right that he should fly as quickly as possible to save his life.”
Now, as I was soon to learn, I was doing the señor a bitter wrong in my mind, seeing that he never dreamed of deserting me, but went to find a means of rescue. As he told me afterwards, when he reached the mouth of the tunnel, he could think of no way by which I might be saved, since these mountains were uninhabited, and it would take several hours to bring men from Cumarvo.
Outside the mine he sat himself down to consider what could be done, but no thought came, for it was impossible to use the strength of the horses in that narrow place. Then he sprang up and looked round him in despair. Close to him was a little ravine hollowed by water, and on its very edge grew a small mimosa thorn of which the long roots had been washed almost bare by a flood. He saw it, and an inspiration entered into him. With the help of a lever he might be able to do a feat to which his unaided strength was not equal.
Springing at the little tree, that being of so tough a wood was the best possible for his purpose, he tore it from such root-hold as remained to it. A few strokes with his heavy hunting-knife trimmed off the branches and fibres, and soon he was creeping carefully up the tunnel, dragging the trunk after him. When he had gone some twenty paces he heard another fragment of the roof fall, and, so he said in his story, was minded to fly.
He had but just escaped from a horrible end, the end that generations ago overtook the poor Aztec, and it was awful to brave it again. He knew that his chances of being able to rescue me were few indeed, whereas those that he would perish miserably in the attempt were many. Then he remembered what my sufferings must be if I still lived, and how his own conscience would reproach him in the after years, should he leave me to my fate, and he went on.
Now he could see that the half-detached mass of the roof still hung; it was a smaller fragment which had fallen, one nearer to the entrance. He could see also that I lay in the same position beneath the rock, and he thought that I was dead, because I neither moved nor spoke, though, in fact, I had but swooned under the agony of my suffering.
“Are you dead?” he whispered, and I heard his voice through my sleep, and, lifting my head, looked up at him astonished, for I had never thought to see him again.
“Do I behold a spirit,” I said, “or is it you come back?”
“It is I, Ignatio, and I have brought a lever. Now when I lift, struggle forward if you can.”
Then he placed the trunk of the thorn-tree in what seemed to him the best position, and put all his strength upon it. It was in vain; even so he could not stir the rock.
“Try a little more to the right,” I said, faintly; “there is a better hold.”
He shifted the lever and dragged at it till his muscles cracked, and I felt the stone tremble as its bulk began to rise.
“If you can help ever so little, it will come!” he gasped.
Then in my despair, though the anguish of it nearly killed me, I set my palms upon the ground, and, contracting myself like a snake that is held with a forked stick, thrust upwards with my back, till the point of the stone was raised to the height of eight or ten inches from the ground.
For a moment, and one only, it hung there; next instant the lever slipped, and down it came again. But I had taken my chance, for, clinging to the floor with my fingers, so soon as my back was free, with a quick movement I dragged myself a foot or more forward. Then the point of rock that had been lifted from my spine fell again, but this time it struck the ground between my thighs.
Now he seized me by the arms and tore me free, though I left one of my long boots beneath the stone. I strove to rise, but could not because of the hurt to my back.
“You must carry me, señor,” I said.
He glanced at the mass that trembled above us; then, giving me the candle, he lifted me from the ground like an infant and staggered forward down the tunnel. Perhaps we had gone some seven or eight paces, not more, when there was a dreadful crash behind us. The roof had fallen in, and the spot which we occupied some thirty seconds before was now piled high with rocks.
“On!” I said; “cracks are showing in the stone above us!” and he rushed forward till we found ourselves outside the mine.
Now I bowed my head and returned thanks for my escape; then, lifting it, I looked my preserver in the face and said:
“I swear by the name of God, señor, that He never made a man nobler than yourself!”
The next instant I fell forward and fainted there among the ferns.
* * * * * * *
Ten days had passed since I was carried from the mouth of that accursed mine back to Cumarvo in a litter, and during all this time I had suffered much pain in my back, and been very ill—so ill, indeed, that I was scarcely allowed to speak with anyone. Now, however, I was much better, and one afternoon the Señor Strickland, assisted by my foster-brother Molas, lifted me from my bed into a hammock.
“By the way, Ignatio,” said the señor when Molas had gone, “I never gave you back this charm of yours. What a strange trinket it is!” he added, taking it from his neck; “and what did you mean by your talk in the tunnel about its making me heir to the empire of the Aztecs in the heart of every Indian, and the rest of it? I suppose that you were delirious with pain, and did not know what you were saying.”
“Is the door shut, señor?” I asked; “and are you sure that there is no one on the verandah? Good! Then draw your chair nearer and I will tell you something. I am not certain that I should take this talisman back again, still I will do so for reasons which you shall learn presently.
“Know, señor, that this broken gem is at once the foundation-stone and the secret symbol of a great order, of which, although you have not been initiated into it, you are now one of the lords, seeing that the crowning and vital ceremony of the creation of a Lord of the Heart consists in the hanging of the symbol about his neck for the space of a minute only by myself, who am the chief lord and Keeper of the Heart for life, and you have worn it for ten whole days.
“Before we part I will call a chapter of the order—for even among these mountains we have brethren—and you shall be initiated into its ritual and raised to the rank of a chief lord, as is your right. Meanwhile I will instruct you briefly in its mysteries, as it is my bounden duty to do.
“Understand, señor, that the first duty of the servant of the Heart is silence, and that silence I demand of you. Men have died ere now, señor; yes, they have died on the rack in the dungeons of the Inquisition, and shrivelled as wizards in the fires of the stake, sooner than reveal those things that have been told them upon the faith of the Heart, against which the confessional itself cannot prevail—no, not with the best of Catholics.”
“But suppose that a man should not keep silence, Ignatio, what then?” he asked.
“There is a land, señor,” I answered, “where the most talkative grow dumb, and its borders can be crossed by all, even by the Lords of the Heart, for fearful is the doom of a false brother!”
“You mean that if I repeat anything I may hear, I shall be murdered.”
“Indeed, no, señor; but you may happen to die. I speak on the Heart; do you hear with the Ears?”
“I hear with the Ears,” he answered, catching my meaning.
“Very well, señor, since you have now sworn secrecy to me by the most solemn oath that can pass the lips of man, I will speak to you openly. This is the tale of the Broken Heart, so far as I know it, though how much of it is truth and how much is legend I cannot say:
“You have heard the story of that white man, or god, sometimes called Quetzal by the Indians, and sometimes Cucumatz, who came to these lands in the far past and civilised their peoples? Afterwards he vanished away in a ship, promising that when many generations had passed he would return again.
“When he had gone, the empire which he created fell into the hands of two brothers, whose chief city was either at Palenque or in its neighbourhood, and the citizens of this empire, like we Christians, worshipped one good god, the true God, under the name of the Heart of Heaven, and to Him they offered few sacrifices save those of fruit and flowers. Now one of these brothers married a wife from another country—a daughter of devils, very beautiful and a great witch.
“Soon this woman, as in the story of the wives of Solomon and their lord, drew away the king, her husband, from the true faith to the worship of the gods of her own land, and brought it about that he offered human sacrifice to them. Then there arose a great confusion in that country, and the end of it was that the people divided themselves into two parties, the worshippers of the Heart of Heaven and the worshippers of devils.
“They made war upon each other, till many of their chief men were killed; then they came to an agreement whereby the nation was sundered. Half of it, under that king who had married the woman, marched northwards, and became the fathers of the Aztecs and other tribes; and half, the faithful worshippers of the Heart, remained in the Tobasco country.
“Now from that day forward evil overtook both these peoples, for though the Aztecs flourished for a while, in the end Spaniards despoiled them. The worshippers of the Heart also were driven from their cities by hordes of barbarians who rolled down upon them, and their faith perished, or seemed to perish.”
“But what has this history to do with the charm about your neck, Ignatio?” he asked.
“I will tell you. When Quetzal sailed away from his people, so says the legend, he left the stone, that once he had worn upon his brow, of which this is the half, to be a treasure to the kings who came after him. Also he set this fate upon it: that while the Heart remained unbroken, for so long should the people be one and whole; but if it came about that it was cut or shattered, they should be divided with it, to be no more one people until again the fragments were one stone.
“Now when these king-brethren quarrelled and parted, they sawed the token asunder, as you see, each of them keeping a half, this half being that of him who married the woman. For generations it was worn by his descendants, and upon their death-beds passed on by them to another, or at times taken from their bodies after they were dead.
“There are many stories told about the stone in the old days, and it is certain that he who had it was the real king of the country for the time being. At length it came into the hands of the great Guatemoc, last of the Aztec emperors, who, before the Spaniards hung him, found means to send it to his son, from whom it has come down to me.”
“To you? What have you to do with Guatemoc?”
“I am his lineal descendant, señor, the eleventh in the male line.”
“Then you ought to be Emperor of the Indians if every man had his rights, Ignatio.”
“That is so, señor, but of my own story I will tell you presently. Now of this stone. Through all the ages it has never been lost, and it is known in the land from end to end; he who wears it for his life being called ‘Keeper of the Heart,’ and also ‘Hope of those who wait,’ since it may happen in his day that the two halves will come together again.”
“And what if they do?”
“Then, so says the legend, the Indians will once more be a mighty nation, and drive those who oppress them into the sea, as the wind drives dust.”
Now the señor rose from his chair and walked up and down the room.
“Do you believe all this?” he asked, suddenly.
“Yes,” I answered, “or the greater part of it. Indeed, if what I hear is true, the lost half of the talisman that has been missing for so many generations is in Mexico at this moment, and, so soon as I am well enough, I go to seek him who bears it, and who has come from far to find me. That is why we must part, señor.”
“Where has this man come from?” he asked, eagerly.
“I do not know for certain,” I answered, “but I think that he has come from the sacred city of the Indians, the hidden Golden City which the Spaniards sought for but could not find, though it still exists among the mountains and deserts of the far interior, whither I hope to journey with him.”
“That still exists! Ignatio, you must be mad. It never has existed except in the imagination.”
“You say so, señor, but I think differently. At least, I knew a man whose grandfather had seen it. He, the grandfather, was a native of San Juan Batista, in Tobasco, and when he was young he committed some crime and fled inland to save his life.
“All that befell him I do not know, but at length he found himself wandering by the shores of a great lake, somewhere in or beyond the country that is now known as Guatemala, and, being exhausted, he laid himself down to die there and fell asleep.
“When he awoke, people were standing round him, like the Indians to look at, but very light in colour, and beautifully dressed in white robes, with necklaces of emeralds and feather capes. These people put him on board a great canoe, and took him to a glorious city with a high pyramid in the centre of it, which was named Heart of the World.
“Of this city he saw little, however, for its inhabitants kept him a prisoner, only from time to time he was brought before their king and elders, who sat in a hall filled with images of dead men fashioned in gold, and there was questioned as to the country whence he came, the tribes that dwelt in it, and more especially of the white men who ruled the land.
“In that hall alone, so he said, there were more gold and precious stones than are to be found in all Mexico. When he had nothing more to tell them, the people wished to kill him, fearing lest he should escape and bring upon them the white men who loved gold. The end of it was that he did escape by the help of a woman, who guided him back towards the sea, though she never came there, for she died upon the road.
“Afterwards this man went to live in a little village near Palenque, where he also died, having revealed nothing of what he had seen, since he feared lest the vengeance of the People of the Heart should follow him. When he was dying, he told his son, who told his son, who told the tale to me. Señor, it has been the dream of my life to visit that city, and now at last I think that I have found the clue which will lead me to it.”
“Why do you want to visit it, Ignatio?”
“To understand that, señor, you must know my history.” And I told him of the failure of the great plot and the part that I had played in it, all of which I have already set out, also of the secret hopes and ambitions of my life.
“Señor,” I added, “though I am beaten I am not yet crushed, and I still desire to build up a great Indian empire. I see by your face that you think me foolish. You may be right or I may be right. I may be pursuing truths or dreams, I may be sane and a redeemer, or insane and a fool. What does it matter? I follow the light that runs before me; will-o’-the-wisp or star, it leads to one end, and for me it is the light that I am born to follow. If you believe nothing else, at least believe this, señor, that I do not seek my own good or advancement, but rather that of my people. At the worst, I am not a knave, I am only a fool.”
“But how will you help your cause by visiting this city, supposing it to exist, Ignatio?”
“Thus, señor: these people—among whom without doubt the old man of whom I have spoken, who is named Zibalbay, is a chief or king—are the true stock and head of all the Indian races, and when they learn my plans and whom I am, they will be glad to furnish me with means whereby I can bring them to their former empire.”
“And if they take another view of the matter, Ignatio?”
“Then I fail, that is all, and among so many failures one more will scarcely matter. I am like a swimmer who sees, or thinks that he sees, a single plank that may bear him to safety. Maybe he cannot reach that plank, or, if he reach it, maybe it will sink beneath his weight. At least, he has no other hope.
“Señor, I have no other hope. There in the Golden City is untold wealth, for the man saw it, and without money, great sums of money, I am helpless, therefore I go thither to win the money. The ship has foundered under me, and with it the cargo of my ambitions and the work of my life; so, being desperate, I fall back upon a desperate expedient.
“First, I will seek this man, that the two halves of the Heart may come together, and the prophecy be fulfilled; then, if it may be, I will travel with him to the City, Heart of the World, careless whether I live or die, but determined, if there is need, to die fighting for the fulfilment of the dream of an Indian empire—Christian, regenerated, and stretching from sea to sea—that I have followed all my days.”
“The dream, Ignatio? Perhaps you name it well, yet few have such noble dreams. And now, who goes with you on this journey?”
“Who goes with me? Molas, so far as the temple where the Indian is. After that, if I proceed, no one. Who would accompany a man grown old in failure, whom even those that love him deem a visionary, on such a desperate quest? Why, if I should dare to tell my projects even, men would mock me as children mock an idiot in the street. I go alone, señor, perhaps to die.”
“As regards the dying, Ignatio, of course I can say nothing, since all men must die sooner or later, and the moment and manner of their end is in the hand of Providence. But for the rest you shall not make this journey alone, that is, if you care to have me for a companion, for I will accompany you.”
“You, señor, you. Think what it means: the certainty of every sort of danger, the risk of every kind of death, and at the end, the probability of failure. It is folly, señor.”
“Ignatio,” he answered, “I will be frank with you. Notwithstanding all the prophecies about the wonders that are to follow the reuniting of the Heart, and the messages from the old man in the temple, I think your scheme of building up an Indian empire greater than that which Cortez destroyed, as impracticable as it is grand, since the time has gone by when it could have been done, or perhaps it has not yet returned.
“Before the Indians can rule again, they must forget the bitter lessons and the degradation of ages; in short, they must be educated, Ignatio. Still, if you think otherwise, that is your affair; you can only fail, and there are failures more glorious than most successes. Do you understand me?”
“Perfectly, señor.”