Stoneheart: A Romance

CHAPTER VIII.

DISGRACE

As we have already said, Don Torribio had rapidly quitted the Hacienda del Cormillo in company with the mysterious stranger whom he had met in such an extraordinary manner.

Their journey was not long. At the close of a quarter of an hour, the stranger pulled up his horse, saying, in a sharp tone:

"It is useless to take you farther before I know what I have to expect from you."

Don Torribio had halted at the same time as the unknown.

"I think you are making a mistake, caballero," said he dryly.

"In what way, if you please, señor?" said the other in a sneering tone.

"I am going to put you in possession of a few facts, which will put us on a level with each other."

"Let us hear them, caballero; I am all attention."

"In the first place," said Don Torribio firmly, "before we go any farther, let me give you a piece of advice."

"Advice is always useful: if yours is good, I shall profit by it; of that be certain."

"You will be right. I am unaware whether you know me, but be sure of this: I am not easily frightened; and if, for some unknown reason, you have led me into an ambush, I warn you that, at the first suspicious movement you make, I will blow your brains out; for I neither know you, nor what your intentions are."

"Good! You are a man after my own heart, I see clearly we shall come to an understanding."

"Perhaps so. But as it is not I who have come to seek you out, – as I have not claimed your aid in any way, – I demand, in the first place, that you give me a clear explanation, without prevarication or circumlocution."

The stranger shrugged his shoulders.

"Is it not enough for you to know that I am in a position to serve you effectually in the plans of vengeance you meditate?"

"I neither understand what you say, nor to what you allude," said Don Torribio haughtily.

"Aha!" said the other, laughing grimly; "Is that the way you answer me?"

"Why should I give you a different answer? What right have you to my confidence? On what plea, supposing I have a secret, do you pretend to search into it?"

"Because your enemy is mine also; because, in avenging you, I avenge myself. Do you understand me now?"

"No more than I did before. If you have nothing else to say, we had better break off our conference and part."

The stranger made a gesture of impatience: he had not expected to meet with so much inflexibility.

"One word more, Don Torribio Quiroga. The man whom you hate, whose death you have already plotted, is called Don Fernando Carril. That man who for a long time has crossed your path at every turn, counteracting your plans and ruining your hopes, has overthrown you in all your reencounters; your very life belongs to him; he has taken all, even to the heart of her you love. Is not this true? Will you trust me now?"

Don Torribio had listened with mingled pain and anger to the revelations of the singular being who had accosted him.

"Yes," said he, clenching his hand with rage, "yes, you are well informed. I care not whether you have gleaned your knowledge from heaven or hell; it is accurate. This man is my evil genius, always and forever crossing my path, and overthrowing, as if in wantonness, my most cherished aspirations. I would sacrifice my whole fortune to avenge myself on him – to hold him, panting and despairing, in my power."

"I thought we should end by coming to an understanding."

"Do not mock me, señor; my soul is deeply troubled. I could have forgiven this man his insolent good luck, his success in the world, where he thrives at my expense, the heaps of gold he wins with such proud indifference, – I say, I could have forgiven him all this, if he had not destroyed my sweetest hopes in tearing from me the heart of her I love; for although I have no tangible proof to corroborate my suspicions, I have tonight acquired a moral certainty impossible to controvert. A lover's heart does not deceive him; jealousy is sharp-sighted. On the appearance of Don Fernando at Don Pedro de Luna's, I found in him a rival, and a rival who is preferred to me."

"If you choose, I will rid you of Don Fernando, and deliver Doña Hermosa into your hands."

"You will do that?" cried Don Torribio, beside himself with joy.

"I will do it," briefly responded the stranger. "Before two days are over, you shall have your revenge on both. But it all depends upon your own will."

"Ah! If that is all," said the other, with an indescribable expression of rage, "I will do all you ask, I will agree to all your demands, to the utmost of my power."

"Take heed, Don Torribio; we are about to enter into a compact – a compact, the conditions of which you must fulfil at all hazards."

"Whatever they may be, I will fulfil them, if you secure my twofold revenge."

"Good! Swear to me, by all you hold most sacred in this world, that, whatever may happen, whatever determination you may arrive at hereafter, you will never divulge what is going to pass between us."

"I swear to you, a fe de caballero," (on the honour of a gentleman), "señor. Speak with all confidence."

"Just now you asked me who I am: I am the Tigercat!"

Don Torribio shuddered involuntarily on hearing this redoubtable name, but recovered himself immediately.

"Very good," said he; "the name you reveal is a guarantee of success to my vengeance."

"Yes," said the bandit, chuckling, "I dare say it is; my reputation has been established a long time on the frontiers. In the meantime, this is what I exact of you. Ponder well what you are about to hear – reflect seriously on what I am going to propose – before you answer; for, I repeat once more, I will compel you to act up to the conditions when once you have accepted them."

"Speak," he replied impatiently; "have I not told you I am longing for revenge?"

"Hear me, then, and remember your oath. I am at this moment preparing an expedition against San Lucar, of which I intend to gain possession at any price. For certain reasons, which need not be mentioned, I have assembled several tribes of the Apaches and a considerable number of vaqueros, who are concealed not far from hence, and only await my signal to fall, like tigers thirsting for blood, upon the pueblo, as it is gorged with wealth. An active and intelligent ally, upon whom I counted to execute this bold coup-de-main, has deserted me at the last moment. You alone can replace him: will you do so?"

"What is this?" exclaimed Don Torribio, shuddering; "It is treason you propose!"

"No," replied the other, in a deep voice, "it is revenge! – consummate vengeance, by which I shall confound your enemies, and those who have applauded their success, while they laughed in scorn at each of your disasters."

"What! I, Don Torribio Quiroga, belonging to one of the oldest families in the country; I am to associate – "

He hesitated and paused. The Tigercat laughed with disdain.

"With bandits and redskins, you would say, and wage war on your own countrymen. Why hesitate to pronounce the words? As for me, those qualifications have no value. I offer you revenge on your countrymen, who have become your enemies in siding with your adversary. You are about to engage in a duel. In a duel, all feints to kill your opponent are lawful. But these are my conditions, and I will not alter them a tittle. I will give you twenty-four hours for consideration."

A long silence ensued between the two men.

The night was dark; the wind howled mournfully through the branches of the trees; nameless noises passed them by, borne on the wings of the breeze.

At last Don Torribio answered in husky tones:

"You have given me twenty-four hours; I demand forty-eight to come to my determination. I will make one more attempt with her I love. You see, I am frank with you. The line of conduct I adopt will depend upon the result of the experiment."

"Be it so," said the Tigercat; "it is better thus. Your cooperation will be more efficacious, and your will firmer, when your last allusion has been torn from you. Go, then! For my part, I shall not be idle."

"Thanks! In case I want to communicate to you my resolve, where shall I find you?"

"I will await you at the Barranca del Fraile" (the Friar's inn).

"Agreed! God grant," he added, with a sigh, "that fate may not force me to be there!"

The Tigercat laughed aloud; and, without replying, spurred his horse, and disappeared in the darkness.

We have already related how the old freebooter acted to keep his promise to Don Torribio.

The desertion among the Apaches, brought about by the influence of the amantzin, on the night when the Tigercat left them to repair to the rendezvous arranged with Stoneheart, had not been as successful as the sorcerer had hoped. The sudden return of the old chief sufficed to restore his authority among the Apaches, who had long been accustomed to obey him, and whose raids against the frontier had always been productive of booty when he commanded them.

The Tigercat had not even taken the trouble to punish the amantzin himself – the Zopilote had taken care of that; and the summary execution had produced an excellent effect upon those rugged and savage minds, which brute force alone can tame.

Nevertheless, he had no wish to damp the renewed devotion shown him by the redskins; and, although his final dispositions were not yet made, and the defection of Stoneheart was a serious hindrance to his plans, he comprehended the necessity of hurrying on his expedition, even at the risk of seeing it fail, calculating on turning to his own profit the hatred of Don Torribio, whose high standing in the province might be very useful to him. He assembled all the Indians able to bear arms of whom he could dispose, crossed the Rio Grande del Norte; and these vultures fell like a devastating hurricane on the luckless Indian frontier, – burning, pillaging, slaughtering, and passing like a horrible plague over those magnificent plains which they left behind them a desert.

Don Torribio Quiroga was one of the first to learn the tidings of the Indian invasion. The news gave him an indescribable feeling of mingled joy and regret. He guessed that the Tigercat wished to give him a proof of the sincerity of his intentions towards him, and of the manner in which he meant to keep the promise he had given.

Up to that time a prey to a thousand conflicting feelings, he now resolved to settle his doubts at once, and to learn positively what he had to hope or fear from Doña Hermosa and her father. Towards nine o'clock in the morning, he called for his horse, and, in spite of the danger he would certainly incur in the short space between the presidio and the hacienda, he managed to leave San Lucar, on which the Indians were rapidly moving, and rode at full speed towards El Cormillo.

About half way to the hacienda his horse started at several dead bodies lying across the road, riddled with wounds; but he was too preoccupied by his own thoughts to pay much attention to the ominous reencounter. As he rode past, he cast a careless look at the corpses, and continued his road without further thought of the incident.

Either designedly, or because they knew the futility of an attack on the hacienda, the Apaches had deviated from their furious course, so as not to approach it. When Don Torribio arrived, he found it in a perfect state of defence: the gates shut and barricaded with care, the windows blocked and loopholed; and he saw the bayonets of the numerous garrison gleaming above the walls in the sunshine.

The sentries placed at the principal entrance gave admittance to Don Torribio, but not before they had questioned and recognised him. A peon received and conducted him to the drawing room. He found three persons there: Don Pedro de Luna, Ña Manuela, and Don Estevan Diaz, who, pale and bloody, was lying upon a sofa, apparently asleep. His mother, seated beside him, watched his slumbers with that tender solicitude which belongs to mothers only. Don Torribio took a few hesitating steps forward, and stopped in surprise when he perceived that no one seemed to notice his presence. At last Don Pedro raised his eyes, and looking at him coldly, said, "Oh! Is it you, cousin? How does it happen that you are here today?"

"Had I no other motive," replied Don Torribio, troubled by a reception he had not anticipated, and foreseeing a storm, "the lively interest I take in your family would have made it my duty to be here now."

"I thank you, cousin," said Don Pedro still more coldly, "for the proof of sympathy you are kind enough to give us. But you might have remembered that El Cormillo is in a perfect state of defence, and that we run no danger behind these walls, before you exposed yourself to be assassinated on the road, as has nearly happened to our poor Don Estevan."

"Has he been set upon?" asked Don Torribio.

"Yes," dryly replied the hacendero; "he and another person, who, less lucky than Estevan, is most likely dead. Did you not know it?"

"I!" Exclaimed Don Torribio, with an accent of truth there was no mistaking; "How should I know?"

"Excuse me, cousin; I am so troubled at what has occurred, that I hardly know what I am saying."

Don Torribio bowed, and then replied:

"May I not have the pleasure of offering my homage to my charming cousin?"

"You must excuse her; she has retired to her room. The poor child is so distracted by the late extraordinary events, that she is unable to see any one – not even you."

"I am the more grieved at this indisposition, as I wished to have some conversation with her on a matter of moment."

"So much the worse, cousin; so much the worse. The time is ill chosen to speak of business, as you must allow, when the Indians are at our gates, devastating our fields and burning our dwellings."

"True, cousin; I acknowledge the justice of your remark. Unfortunately, I find myself placed by chance in such extraordinary circumstances, that if I might persist – "

"It would be useless, my dear Don Torribio," said Don Pedro, interrupting him, and exhibiting a certain degree of stiffness. "I have the honour to tell you that my daughter cannot have the pleasure of seeing you today."

"Then pray, cousin, excuse my inopportune intrusion. Perhaps I shall be more lucky another day."

"That is it; some other day, when we have got rid of these cursed pagans, and have no longer a horrible death in perspective."

"And now," said Don Torribio, with ill-suppressed rage, "as I perceive that, owing to your abstraction doubtless, you have not even offered me a seat, cousin, I have no more to do than offer my good wishes for your safety, and take my leave of you."

The hacendero did not seem to observe the tone of ill humour in which these words were uttered.

"Good-bye, then, Don Torribio," said he, "and a lucky journey. Above all things, be prudent, and do not travel with your eyes shut. The roads are infested by brigands, and I should be in despair if you met with mishap."

"I thank you for your advice, and will follow it," he replied, turning to leave the room.

Just at this moment Don Estevan – who, as we have said, appeared to be sleeping – opened his eyes, and perceived Don Torribio. His look brightened.

"Mother," said he in a feeble voice, "and you, Don Pedro, do me the favour to leave me alone with this caballero for a short time. I have a few words to say to him in private."

"To me, señor?" asked Don Torribio, in a tone so haughty it sounded like disdain.

"To yourself, Señor Don Torribio Quiroga," replied the wounded man, whose voice grew stronger under the excitement of his feelings.

"You are very weak, my son, for a conversation with any one," said Manuela.

"Perhaps, my friend," said Don Pedro, "it would be more prudent to defer it for a few days."

"No," was the reply; "it must be today – must be this instant."

"Just as you please, headstrong!" said Don Pedro. "We will go into the anteroom, where we shall be within call. Come, Manuela."

Don Estevan kept his eyes fixed on the door till it closed behind them; then he turned to Don Torribio, who was still standing in the centre of the room.

"Come nearer, señor, that you may be better able to hear what I have to say to you."

"I am listening to you, señor; but, at the same time, must beg you not to delay your communication."

"You shall have it. I warn you, that I tore the mask from one of the bandits who attacked us, and recognised him."

"I am at a loss to understand," said Don Torribio.

"Oh! You do not understand, señor! It is the answer I expected. I suppose, likewise, you do not know the name of the person who accompanied me, and on whom the vaqueros fell with such indescribable fury?"

"I am perfectly ignorant as to who he was," said Don Torribio, quite unmoved.

"Better and better! Learn, then, that it was Don Fernando Carril who was killed." And he cast a look pregnant with irony at the man standing beside him.

"Don Fernando Carril! – killed!" exclaimed the latter, stupefied.

Don Estevan smiled disdainfully.

"Listen once more to this," he continued in threatening tones. "If Don Fernando is not brought to this hacienda within twenty-four hours, I will reveal to Don Pedro and his daughter the name of his assassin. I think you understand me this time?" And, overcome with grief, he sank half fainting on his couch.

Don Torribio remained a moment, annihilated with the words he had heard; but, immediately recovering his presence of mind, he quickly left the hacienda, and galloped into the plains, muttering as he rode:

"The Tigercat was right: there is nothing left for me but to seek the Barranca del Fraile."

CHAPTER IX.

THE PRISONER

We must now explain to our readers what happened after the fall of Don Fernando Carril, when he was made the victim of an ambuscade.

When his hand was no longer able to raise his sword, and he had fallen by the side of his companion, the men in masks – who had been chary of approaching too near him, out of respect for the blade he wielded so well, as proved by the bodies of four bandits lying on the sand beside him? rushed all at once upon him.

Don Fernando Carril lay on his back showing no signs of life. A deadly, pallor overspread his noble features; his half-opened lips disclosed his clenched teeth; blood was flowing in torrents from the many wounds he had received; and his hand still clasped the weapon with which he had so long held his assailants at bay.

"¡Caspita!" cried one, looking at him attentively; "Here is a young gentleman who is seriously hurt. What will the master say?"

"What would you have him say, Señor Carlocho?" said another; "He defended himself like a lion. It is his own fault. He ought to have let himself be taken nicely, and all this would not have happened. Look! we have lost four men."

"A pretty loss indeed, those four fellows there! I would rather he had killed six than be in the state he is now."

"The devil!" muttered the other bandit; "That is no compliment to us, you know."

"That will do; that will do. Help me to bind up his wounds as well as we can, and lose no time about it. This is no wholesome place for us; besides we are expected elsewhere; so be quick."

Without further discussion, the bandits hastened to obey the orders of Carlocho. Don Fernando's wounds were bound up somehow; he was thrown across the horse of the guacho, who seemed to be leader of the expedition, and the party set off at full gallop, without further heed of those who had fallen in the struggle, and whose bodies were abandoned to the beasts of prey.

After a very rapid ride of two hours, they reached an abandoned rancho.

Two men were awaiting their arrival with impatience.

These two men were Tigercat and Don Torribio.

"Well!" shouted the former, as soon as he saw them.

"It is done!" said Carlocho laconically, as he dismounted, took Don Fernando in his arms, and carried him to a bed of leaves.

The latter showed no signs of life.

"Is he dead?" asked the Tigercat.

Carlocho shook his head.

"He is hardly better than dead," he replied.

"Wretch!" cried the Indian chief in a fury; "Is it thus you execute my orders? Did I not command you to take him alive?"

"Hm!" said Carlocho; "I only wish you had been there to see! An incarnate demon, who, armed only with a thin rapier, withstood us for more than twenty minutes, and only gave in after killing four of our bravest!"

The Tigercat smiled disdainfully.

"You are all cowards," he said.

And turning his back on the vaquero, he went up to Don Fernando.

Don Torribio was already at his side.

"Is he dead?" he asked.

"No," replied the Mexican; "but nearly so."

"So much the worse," muttered the old chief, "I would give a good deal for his recovery."

Don Torribio looked at him with astonishment.

"Of what importance is the life of this man to us?" he said. "Was he not your enemy?"

"The very reason why I do not wish him to die."

"I do not understand you."

"I have devoted my life to the accomplishment of an idea; therefore I no longer belong to myself, and am bound to offer up my hate and friendship to my idea."

"I admit that, up to a certain point: but how is it, then, that you have laid a trap for this man, who, according to your own account, is a traitor."

"Are men always to be harshly judged, even by those who are most intimate with them?" said the old chief, with a bitter smile. "What is it to me that the man may be a traitor? By putting him out of the way, without touching his life, I should have gained the end I had before me when I sought your alliance. After keeping him a prisoner for a few days, to prevent his counteracting your plans, and hindering your marriage with Doña Hermosa, I should have restored him to freedom. Unluckily, it is too late now: what is done cannot be undone. The death of this man, obscurely slain in ambuscade, will do more to frustrate my plans than you imagine. His blood be upon your head! It is you who ordered this murder."

"I!" replied Don Torribio. "You are mad!"

The Tigercat looked at his new ally with a stare of surprise, shrugged his shoulders, and whistled a Mexican seguidilla. It was evident that Don Torribio had not understood a word of what had been uttered by this singular man, whose sole delight had hitherto been in slaughter.

"Pooh!" said he; "What does one, more or less, signify?"

The Indian chief stooped over the body of the wounded man, and examined it carefully. The eyes were closed, and the features had the paleness and rigidity of death. Two or three vaqueros, aided by Carlocho, rubbed his temples and chest incessantly with rum.

After looking at the body attentively, the old chief drew a knife from his girdle, held the blade for two or three minutes across the mouth, withdrew it again, and examined it. He thought it was slightly tarnished; then he knelt down by Don Fernando, seized his left arm, ripped up the sleeve, and, having felt for the vein, pricked it with the delicate point of his knife.

Then followed an instant of anxious suspense. The looks of all were fixed on the wounded man. This attempt would be the last; if it did not succeed, all was over: he knew of no other means to recall him to life. The vaqueros continued the friction.

At the puncture made by the chief's knife, there appeared at last a dark speck; little by little it increased in size, till it grew into a black point, which finally became a bead of jet: this trembled for a moment, and then fell rolling down the arm, pressed forward by another which succeeded it, and immediately made room for a third; then the blood grew less black and less thick, and finally gushed out in a long vermillion stream.