The Bee Hunters: A Tale of Adventure
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"Señor Don Torribio, you really overwhelm me by so much courtesy. Heaven bear witness, that if I were not your most implacable enemy, I could be your dearest friend."
"Alas!" said Don Torribio, "Heaven has disposed otherwise."
"I know it, my good señor, and regret it with all my soul."
"Not more than I do, I swear."
"Well, as that is the case, we must act accordingly,"
"Alas! That is just what I mean to do."
"I thought so. Then, in your interest and mine, I have resolved to make an end of it."
"I do not exactly see how we can get at that result, unless one of us consents to kill the other."
"I presume this hatred of yours has cost you a round sum of money?"
"Four hundred piastres, which the rascals have stolen from me, as you are still alive; to say nothing of two hundred others I propose to present to a pícaro who has sworn to kill you tonight."
"It is perfectly distressing! If this goes on, you will ruin yourself."
Don Torribio sighed, but made no reply.
Don Fernando resumed, while he threw away his cigarette and occupied himself in rolling another:
"For my part, señor, I confess that, in spite of the lamentable clumsiness of the people you employ, I begin to be tired of serving as a target at moments when I least expect it."
"I can understand that; it must be very disagreeable."
"It is. Well, then, wishing to reconcile our mutual interests, and to put an end to it, once for all, I have racked my brains until I think I have hit on a method of arranging these matters to our mutual satisfaction."
"Well, let us hear this method; I know you to be a man of imagination, Don Fernando. It is doubtless ingenious."
"Oh, no; on the contrary, it is quite simple. Do you ever play?"
"So seldom, that it is hardly worth mentioning."
"Precisely the case with me. This is the proposal I have to make: it is evident you will not succeed in assassinating me."
"Do you think so, señor?" said Don Torribio, still smiling.
"I am sure of it, else you would have succeeded already."
"I will admit it: what, then, do you propose?"
"This: we will have a game at cards – the first to whom el as de copas (the ace of hearts) falls shall win, and be master over the life of his opponent, who shall be bound to blow out his brains as he sits there."
"Not so bad; the idea is ingenious."
"And why not señor? – It is just like a common game, only the loser cannot have his revenge. Now, where are the cards?"
It was then discovered that these three gallant caballeros, who never played, had each a pack of cards in his pocket. They produced them with such spontaneousness, that all three could not help bursting into Homeric laughter.
We have already said, somewhere, that in Mexico the passion for gambling is carried beyond the verge of madness; so that the facility with which Don Torribio accepted the game proposed by his foe has nothing in it to astonish those who know the character of those strange Mexicans, who carry everything to extremes, and for whom anything unexpected and extraordinary has always an irresistible attraction.
"One moment, señores," said Don Estevan, who had hitherto listened without joining in the conversation; "perhaps there might still be another way."
"What other?" exclaimed Don Fernando and Don Torribio, turning briskly to him.
"Is your mutual hatred so great, that in reality it can only be satisfied by the death of one or the other?"
"It is," said Don Torribio hoarsely.
Don Fernando merely replied by a nod.
"In that case," continued Don Estevan, "instead of having recourse to blind chance, why cannot you fight it out with each other?"
Both men made a gesture of disdain.
"What!" exclaimed Don Torribio, "Fight like wretched leperos, at the risk of disfiguring or crippling ourselves, which would be worse than death! No! I will never consent to that."
"Nor I; it is better that chance shall decide."
"As you please, caballeros; do as you like."
"But," said Don Torribio, "who is to deal?"
"The devil!" said Don Fernando; "that is a good remark: I never thought of that."
"I will, if you have no objection," said Don Estevan; "and so much the more readily, as my friendship for both of you señores, makes me perfectly disinterested."
"It will do," said Don Torribio; "only, to avoid all cause for dispute, you must choose at hap-hazard the pack you are to use."
"Very well: place the three packs under a hat; I will take the first I touch."
"That will do. What a pity you did not think of this game sooner, Don Fernando!"
"What could I do, señor? – I have only just hit upon the idea."
Don Estevan rose and left the grotto, to afford the two foes every facility for arranging the three packs under the hat. He was very soon recalled.
"So," said he, "you are determined to play out this game?"
"We are, they replied."
"You swear, by all the world holds most holy, and whichever of you it may be whom fortune favours, to submit yourselves to the fiat of fate in all its entirety?"
"We swear, Don Estevan, by the word of caballeros."
"Enough, señores," he replied, passing his Hand under the hat and drawing out a pack of cards. "And now recommend your souls to God; for a few minutes hence, one of you will be in his presence."
The two men crossed themselves devoutly, and fixed their eyes anxiously on the pack of cards.
Don Estevan shuffled the cards with the greatest care, and then made each of the adversaries cut them in turn.
"Attention, señores," said he; "I am going to begin."
The two, negligently leaning on their elbows, smoked their pajillos with a perfect assumption of indifference, which was only belied by the flashing of their eyes.
Meanwhile the cards continued to fall on the zarapé: Don Estevan held only about a dozen more in his hand, when he paused.
"Caballeros," said he, "for the last time – reflect."
"Go on, go on!" cried Don Torribio excitedly; "the first card belongs to me."
"Look at it," said Don Estevan, turning it up.
"Oh," said Don Fernando, throwing away his cigarette, "el as de copas. Look, Don Torribio; it is curious. ¡Vive Dios! you can reproach no one; you are the author of your own death."
Don Torribio made a violent gesture, which he repressed immediately, and resumed the tone of affected civility which had characterised the conversation.
"Upon my honour, it is true," said he. "I must confess, Don Fernando, I have no chance with you in anything."
"I am quite in despair, dear Don Torribio."
"Never mind; it was a capital game; I never felt so interested."
"Nor I either. Unfortunately, I cannot give you your revenge."
"Right! And now I must pay my debt."
Don Fernando bowed without answering.
"Be quite easy, dear señor; I will only keep you waiting such time as is absolutely necessary. If I could have foreseen this, I would have brought my pistols."
"I have brought mine; they are perfectly at your service."
"Then pray be kind enough to lend me one."
Don Fernando rose, took a pistol from his holsters, and offered them to Don Torribio.
"It is primed and loaded; the trigger is a little stiff."
"What a capital man of business you are, Don Fernando! You provide for everything; no detail escapes you."
"My traveller's habits, Don Torribio, – nothing more."
Don Torribio took the pistol and cocked it.
"Señores," said he, "I beg you not to leave my body to the mercy of the wild beasts; it would distress me dreadfully to become their food when I am dead."
"Set your mind at rest, dear señor; we will carry you home across your own horse. We should be in despair if the body of so accomplished a caballero were thus profaned."
"That is all I have to request of you, señores; now accept my thanks, and farewell."
After this he cast one last look around him, and coolly placed the muzzle of the pistol against his right temple.
Don Fernando suddenly arrested his hand.
"I have one remark to make," he said.
"Upon my honour, you are only just in time," said Don Torribio, without exhibiting emotion: "two seconds more, and it would have been too late. But let us hear this remark. Is it of much interest?"
"You yourself shall judge. You have lost your life fairly to me."
"As fairly as possible."
"Well, then, it belongs to me. You are dead; I have the right of disposing of you as I think fit."
"I cannot deny it. You will observe that I am ready to pay my losses like a caballero."
"I render you full justice, dear señor; therefore if I allow you to live for the present, you are bound to kill yourself at my first requisition, and to employ the life I leave you (which I could deprive you of at this very moment) solely in my interest, and at my good pleasure."
"Then you offer me a bargain?" said Don Torribio.
"Yes, you have hit the word; it is a bargain."
"H'm!" said Don Torribio; "That requires consideration. What would you do, if you were in my place, Don Estevan?"
"I?" replied he; "I would accept without hesitation. Life is so beautiful, take it all in all, it is best to enjoy it as long as possible."
"There is something true about what you say; but recollect I should become Don Fernando's slave as I could only employ my life in his service, and should be bound to kill myself whenever he gives the word."
"True; but Don Fernando is a caballero who will only exact this sacrifice in so far as to protect his own life."
"I will even go further," broke in Don Fernando; "I will limit the duration of our bargain to ten years. If by that time Don Torribio is not dead, he will again enter upon his rights in all their plenitude, and can dispose of his life after his own fashion."
"That really touches me to the heart! You are a perfect caballero, señor; and I accept the life you offer me so gracefully. A thousand thanks!" added he, uncocking the pistol. "I have no further use for this weapon."
"One thing more, Don Torribio. As no one can read the future, you will not object to have this bond drawn up in writing?"
"Certainly not; but where shall we get the paper?"
"I think I can find the writing materials in my alforjas."
"How right I was in pronouncing you a perfect man of business, whom nothing escapes, dear señor!"
Don Fernando, without answering, went to fetch his alforjas, a kind of double pocket, which is fastened behind the saddle, to hold the necessary articles for travelling, and used throughout the whole of Spanish America instead of the common European valise.
Don Fernando took out pens, ink, and paper, and laid them in order before Don Torribio.
"Now," said he, "write as I shall dictate."
"Proceed, my dear señor; I will write."
Don Fernando began:
"I, the undersigned, Don Torribio Quiroga y Carvajal y Flores del Cerro, acknowledge that I have fairly lost my life to Don Fernando Carril, in a game played with the aforesaid señor; I acknowledge that the life belongs henceforth to Don Fernando, who shall have the right to dispose of it as he thinks fit, without my having power to raise objection in any case, or to refuse obedience to the orders he may give me, whether they be to kill myself before his eyes, or to risk in any perilous adventure the life I have lost, and which I acknowledge to hold only at his pleasure. I farther acknowledge that all sentiments of hatred to the aforesaid Don Fernando Carril are extinguished in my heart, and that I will never seek to injure him directly or indirectly. I enter into this bond for the space of ten years, beginning from the day on which this deed is signed; it being formally stipulated by me, that at the end of the aforesaid ten years I shall resume all my rights in full, with the entire possession of my life, and that from thenceforth I shall not be responsible to Don Fernando Carril for any account of it."
"Written and signed by me, this 17th March 18 – , and subscribed, as witness, by Señor Don Estevan Diaz y Morelos."
"Now," said Don Fernando, "sign: pass the paper to Don Estevan, for his signature; then give it to me." Don Torribio signed with the greatest good humour, added a tremendous flourish to his signature, and gave the pen to Don Estevan, who affixed his name without making the slightest objection to this strange arrangement.
When all this was over, Don Torribio scattered a little sand over the paper, to dry the ink, folded it neatly in four, and placed it in the hands of Don Fernando, who read it attentively, and put it in his bosom.
"There, that is finished," said Don Torribio. "Now señor, if you have no commands for me, I ask your permission to retire."
"I should be distressed to detain you longer, caballero; go where your engagements call you; may they be pleasant ones!"
"Thanks for the wish, though I fear it will scarcely be fulfilled; I have had bad luck for some time past."
He saluted the others once more, put the bridle on his horse, and departed at a gallop.
"Do you really intend to demand the execution of this bond?" asked Don Estevan, as soon as he found himself alone with Don Fernando.
"Most certainly," replied the other; "you forget that this man is my mortal foe. But I must leave you, Don Estevan; I must be today at Las Norias de San Antonio, and it is growing late."
"Are you going to the hacienda of Don Pedro de Luna?"
"Not exactly to the hacienda, but to the neighbourhood."
"Then we can ride together; for I, too, am going in that direction."
"You," said he, looking at him inquisitively.
"I am the major-domo of the hacienda," replied Don Estevan.
The two men left the grotto, and mounted their horses. Don Fernando rode pensively by the side of his companion, only replying in monosyllables.
CHAPTER XI
THE RANCHO
The road the two men had to travel together was tolerably long. Don Estevan would not have been sorry to shorten it by talking to Don Fernando, particularly as the manner in which he had made acquaintance with the latter, and the light in which he had shown himself, excited the curiosity of the former in the highest degree. Unfortunately, Don Fernando did not seem in the least inclined to keep up the conversation; and, in spite of all his efforts, the major-domo found himself obliged to conform to his companion's state of mind, and imitate his taciturnity.
They had already left the village a long way behind them, and were cantering along the undulating banks of the Rio Bermejo, when they heard, at a short distance in front of them, the sound of a horse at full gallop. We say, they heard; for, shortly after leaving the grotto, the sun had finally disappeared below the horizon, and there had been a sudden transition from the glorious light of day to thick darkness.
In Mexico, where there is no police, or, at all events, only a nominal one, every man is obliged to take care of himself. Two men, meeting on a road after nightfall, cannot accost each other without the greatest precaution, nor approach each other until fully assured they have nothing to fear.
"Keep your distance!" shouted Don Fernando, as soon as he thought the person approaching was within reach of his voice.
"And why so? You know you have nothing to fear from me," answered somebody; the sound caused by the horse's hoofs ceasing at the same time, denoting that the rider had halted.
"I know that voice," said the Mexican.
"And the man, too, Señor Don Fernando, for it is not very long since we met; I am El Zapote."
"Aha!" laughed Don Fernando; "Is it you, Tonillo? Come on, muchacho."
The latter rode up directly.
"What the devil are you doing on this road, at this hour of the night?"
"I am coming from a rendezvous, and returning to the pueblo."
"I fancy that rendezvous has been a slippery affair."
"You insult me, Don Fernando. I am an honourable man."
"I have no doubt of it. Moreover, your affairs are not mine; and I do not choose to be mixed up with them. Come, adieu, Tonillo."
"A moment if you please. Since I have been lucky enough to meet you, grant me five minutes: I was going to look for you."
"You! Is it a case like the last? I thought you had had enough of that speculation, which hardly succeeds with me."
"Here is the matter in two words, Don Fernando. After what happened the other day, I considered that I owed you my life, and, consequently, had not full liberty of action where you are concerned. But you know, señor, I am a caballero; and as an honest man can but stick to his word, I resolved to see the person who had paid me to kill you, and return him the money. It was hard to disburse so large a sum; but I did not hesitate. One may well say, a good action always brings its own recompense."
"You ought to know that better than anyone else," laughed Don Fernando.
"You laugh! Very well; judge for yourself. I sought this person, whose name it is needless to mention."
"So much the more so, as I know it already."
"You do? Very well, then. This morning a caballero, one of my friends, gave me notice that the person in question also wished to speak to me. All was working wonderfully. But guess my amazement when, just as I was going to refund the money and throw up my engagement, this personage announced to me that he had been reconciled to you, that you were the best friends, and begged me to keep the hundred piastres as an indemnification for the damage he had caused me."
"Was it this person, then, whom you went to meet tonight?"
"The same. I have only just left him."
"Very well: go on, compadre" (comrade).
"Well, caballero, since this affair has ended in a manner honourable to me, as I flatter myself, I am at liberty to follow my own inclinations, and am quite at your service, if you will do me the honour to employ me."
"I will not say no; perhaps in a day or two I may find a use for your services."
"You will not repent having employed me, señor. You will be always sure to find me at – "
"Not a word on that subject," said Don Fernando, interrupting him suddenly; "when the time comes, I shall find you."
"As you please, señor. Now permit me to take leave of you and this honourable caballero, your friend."
"Adieu, Zapote. A happy journey."
The lepero joyfully took to his road again.
"Señor," said Don Estevan, as soon as the latter had gone, "in a short time we shall reach the rancho (farmhouse) I inhabit with my mother; it would glad me to offer you shelter for the night."
"Thanks for your courtesy, which I gratefully accept. Is the rancho far from Las Norias?"
"Hardly a league. Were it daylight, you would be able to see from hence the tall walls of the hacienda. Permit me to be your guide on the road to my poor dwelling."
The cavaliers then bent to the left, entering a broad path lined with aloes. Very soon the barking of several watchdogs, and two or three specks of light which twinkled through the darkness, apprised them that it would not be long before they reached the end of their tedious journey. In fact, after riding some ten minutes longer, they found themselves in front of a house, small, but apparently comfortable, under the zaguán (veranda) of which several persons, provided with torches, seemed to be expecting their arrival.
They stopped before the porch, dismounted, gave their horses to a peon, who led them away, and entered the dwelling, Don Estevan preceding his guest in order to do the honours of his house.
They found themselves in a chamber of good dimensions, furnished with sundry chairs, a few armchairs, and a massive table, on which the cloth was laid for several persons. The whitewashed walls of the room were adorned with prints, frightfully coloured, representing the four seasons, the five quarters of the globe, &c.
A woman, no longer young, dressed with a certain degree of refinement, and whose features, although marked by age, still preserved traces of great beauty, stood in the middle of the room.
"Mother," said Don Estevan, bowing respectfully before her, "permit me to present to you Don Fernando Carril, an honourable caballero, who consents to be our guest tonight."
"He is welcome," answered Doña Manuela, with a gracious smile; "this house and all that is in it is at his disposal."
"Many thanks, señora, for this kind reception."
At first sight of the stranger Doña Manuela had begun to tremble, and had scarcely repressed an exclamation of surprise. The sound of his voice struck her no less, and she cast a profoundly scrutinising look over him; but after a moment she shook her head gently, as if mistrusting the thought which had arisen.
"Be seated, señor," she said, pointing to the table with great cordiality; "the supper shall be served directly. Your long ride will have sharpened your appetite, and will make the frugality of the viands less distasteful."
In fact, the meal was frugal, consisting of beans with red pepper, beef dried in the sun, a fowl boiled in rice, rolls of maize, with pulque and mezcal to drink With great pleasure Doña Manuela watched the viands disappear with which she loaded their plates. She encouraged them by all the means in her power to satisfy their hunger.
When supper was over, they passed into an inner chamber, more comfortably furnished, which appeared to be the reception room.
The conversation, which had naturally been rather languid at dinner, now, little by little, grew more animated, and soon reached, thanks to the efforts of Doña Manuela, that tone of pleasant familiarity which banishes every constraint, and doubles the charms of familiar chat.
Don Fernando seemed to enter with all his heart into the desultory conversation, which leaped without ceasing from one subject to another; listening with complacency to the long stories of Doña Manuela, and answering with apparent rankness the questions she asked him.
"Are you a costeño" (an inhabitant of the sea border), "or a tierras a dentro" (one of those who dwell inland), "caballero?" the good dame suddenly asked her guest.
"By my faith, señora," replied he, laughing, "I confess I feel some difficulty in replying."
"Why so, señor?"
"For the simple reason that I have no idea where I was born."
"But you are hijo del país" (literally, a son of the country), – "a Mexican, at all events?"
"Everything leads me to think so, señora; but I would not swear it."
"That is very singular. Does not your family reside in the province?"
A shadow crossed the face of Don Fernando. "No, señora," he replied dryly.
The mistress of the house perceived she had touched a tender chord, and hastened to turn the conversation.
"Of course you know Don Pedro de Luna?"
"Very little, señora; accident threw us together once. It is true the circumstances were too singular for him to forget them easily; but it remains to be seen whether I ever set foot in his hacienda."
"You are wrong, caballero; Don Pedro is a cristiano Viejo" (an old Christian, i.e. a descendant of the early conquerors), "who exercises hospitality after the fashion of old times: nothing makes him happier than to practise it."
"Most unfortunately, important affairs call me to some distance, and I fear I shall have no time to stop at his hacienda."
"Forgive the question," said Don Estevan; "but have you really the intention of entering the prairie?"
"Why do you ask, caballero?"
"Because we are here on the extreme Indian frontier; and unless you retrace your steps, it is only towards the wilderness you can bend them."
"Well, then, it is my intention to go into the desert."
Don Estevan made a gesture of surprise.
"Forgive my pertinacity," said he; "but without doubt you must be acquainted with the desert you intend to enter?"
"By your leave, señor, I am thoroughly acquainted with it."
"And knowing its dangers, dare you enter it alone?"
"I thought I had given you a proof today," said he, with an indefinable smile, "that I dare many things."