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Title: The White Chief: A Legend of Northern Mexico

Author: Mayne Reid

Illustrator: L. Evans

Release date: October 25, 2007 [eBook #23193]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHITE CHIEF: A LEGEND OF NORTHERN MEXICO ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The White Chief, A Legend of Northern Mexico, by Captain Mayne Reid.

________________________________________________________________________
An exciting and well-written book by Mayne Reid based on his experiences
during the war between America and Mexico in the 1840s.  Reid took the
title of "Captain" because that was what his men called him during that
war, although he was never promoted to that rank.

The importance of Reid's books with this background is that they were
among the first in the Wild West genre.

________________________________________________________________________
THE WHITE CHIEF, A LEGEND OF NORTHERN MEXICO, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.



CHAPTER ONE.

Deep in the interior of the American Continent--more than a thousand
miles from the shores of any sea--lies our scene.

Climb with me yonder mountain, and let us look from its summit of snow.

We have reached its highest ridge.  What do we behold?

On the north a chaos of mountains, that continues on through thirty
parallels to the shores of the Arctic Sea!  On the south, the same
mountains,--here running in separate sierras, and there knotting with
each other.  On the west, mountains again, profiled along the sky, and
alternating with broad tables that stretch between their bases.

Now turn we around, and look eastward.  Not a mountain to be seen!  Far
as the eye can reach, and a thousand miles farther, not a mountain.
Yonder dark line rising above the plain is but the rocky brow of another
plain--a _steppe_ of higher elevation.

Where are we?  On what summit are we standing?  On the Sierra Blanca,
known to the hunter as the "Spanish Peaks."  We are upon the western rim
of the _Grand Prairie_.

Looking eastward, the eye discovers no signs of civilisation.  There
_are_ none within a month's journeying.  North and south,--mountains,
mountains.

Westward, it is different.  Through the telescope we can see cultivated
fields afar off,--a mere strip along the banks of a shining river.
Those are the settlements of Nuevo Mexico, an oasis irrigated by the Rio
del Norte.  The scene of our story lies not there.

Face once more to the eastward, and you have it before you.  The
mountain upon which we stand has its base upon a level plain that
expands far to the east.  There are no foot-hills.  The plain and the
mountain touch, and at a single step you pass from the naked turf of the
one to the rocky and pine-clad declivities of the other.

The aspect of the plain is varied.  In some places it is green, where
the gramma-grass has formed a sward; but in most parts it is sterile as
the Sahara.  Here it appears brown, where the sun-parched earth is bare;
there it is of a sandy, yellowish hue; and yonder the salt effervescence
renders it as white as the snow upon which we stand.

The scant vegetation clothes it not in a livery of verdure.  The leaves
of the agave are mottled with scarlet, and the dull green of the cactus
is still further obscured by its thickly-set spines.  The blades of the
yuccas are dimmed by dust, and resemble clusters of half-rusty bayonets;
and the low scrubby copses of acacia scarce offer a shade to the dusky
_agama_ and the ground rattlesnake.  Here and there a solitary palmetto,
with branchless stem and tufted crown, gives an African aspect to the
scene.  The eye soon tires of a landscape where every object appears
angular and thorny; and upon this plain, not only are the trees of that
character, but the plants,--even the _very_ grass carries its thorns!

With what sensations of pleasure we turn to gaze into a lovely valley,
trending eastward from the base of the mountain!  What a contrast to the
arid plain!  Its surface is covered with a carpet of bright green,
enamelled by flowers that gleam like many-coloured gems; while the
cotton-wood, the wild-china-tree, the live-oak, and the willow, mingle
their foliage in soft shady groves that seem to invite us.  Let us
descend!

We have reached the plain, yet the valley is still far beneath us--a
thousand feet at the least--but, from a promontory of the bluff
projecting over it, we command a view of its entire surface to the
distance of many miles.  It is a level like the plain above; and gazing
down upon it, one might fancy it a portion of the latter that had sunk
into the earth's crust, so as to come within the influence of a
fertilising power denied to the higher region.

On both sides of it, far as the eye can reach, run the bordering cliffs,
stepping from one level to the other, by a thousand feet sheer, and only
passable at certain points.  There is a width of ten miles from cliff to
cliff; and these, of equal height, seem the counterparts of each other.
Their grim savage fronts, overhanging the soft bright landscape of the
valley, suggest the idea of a beautiful picture framed in rough
oak-work.

A stream, like a silver serpent, bisects the valley--not running in a
straight course, but in luxuriant windings, as though it loved to tarry
in the midst of that bright scene.  Its frequent curves and gentle
current show that it passes over a surface almost plane.  Its banks are
timbered, but not continuously.  Here the timber forms a wide belt,
there only a fringe scarce shadowing the stream, and yonder the grassy
turf can be distinguished running in to the very water's edge.

Copse-like groves are scattered over the ground.  These are of varied
forms; some perfectly circular, others oblong or oval, and others
curving like the cornucopias of our gardens.  Detached trees meet the
eye, whose full round tops show that Nature has had her will in their
development.  The whole scene suggests the idea of some noble park,
planted by design, with just timber enough to adorn the picture without
concealing its beauties.

Is there no palace, no lordly mansion, to correspond?  No.  Nor palace
nor cottage sends up its smoke.  No human form appears within this wild
paradise.  Herds of deer roam over its surface, the stately elk reposes
within the shade of its leafy groves, but no human being is there.
Perhaps the foot of man never--

Stay! there is one by our side who tells a different tale.  Hear him.

"That is the valley of San Ildefonso."  Wild though it appears, it was
once the abode of civilised man.  Near its centre you may note some
irregular masses scattered over the ground.  But for the trees and rank
weeds that cover them, you might there behold the ruins of a city.

"Yes! on that spot once stood a town, large and prosperous.  There was a
_Presidio_ with the flag of Spain flying from its battlements; there was
a grand Mission-house of the Jesuit padres; and dwellings of rich miners
and `hacendados' studded the valley far above and below.  A busy
populace moved upon the scene; and all the passions of love and hate,
ambition, avarice, and revenge, have had existence there.  The hearts
stirred by them are long since cold, and the actions to which they gave
birth are not chronicled by human pen.  They live only in legends that
sound more like romance than real history.

"And yet these legends are less than a century old!  One century ago,
from the summit of yonder mountain could have been seen, not only the
settlement of San Ildefonso, but a score of others--cities, and towns,
and villages--where to-day the eye cannot trace a vestige of
civilisation.  Even the names of these cities are forgotten, and their
histories buried among their ruins!

"The Indian has wreaked his revenge upon the murderers of Moctezuma!
Had the Saxon permitted him to continue his war of retaliation, in one
century more--nay, in half that time--the descendants of Cortez and his
conquerors would have disappeared from the land of Anahuac!

"Listen to the `Legend of San Ildefonso'!"



CHAPTER TWO.

Perhaps in no country has religion so many devoted days as in Mexico.
The "fiestas" are supposed to have a good effect in Christianising the
natives, and the saints' calendar has been considerably enlarged in that
pseudo-holy land.  Nearly every week supplies a festival, with all its
mummery of banners, and processions, and priests dressed as if for the
altar-scene in "Pizarro," and squibs, and fireworks, and silly citizens
kneeling in the dust, and hats off all round.  Very much like a London
Guy-Fawkes procession is the whole affair, and of about like influence
upon the morals of the community.

Of course the _padres_ do not get up these ceremonial exhibitions for
mere amusement--not they.  There are various little "blessings," and
"indultos," and sprinklings of sacred water, to be distributed on these
occasions--not _gratuitously_--and the wretched believer is preciously
"plucked" while he is in the penitent mood--at the same time he is
promised a short and easy route to heaven.

As to any solemnity in the character of the ceremonials, there is
nothing of the sort.  They are in reality days of amusement; and it is
not uncommon to see the kneeling devotee struggling to keep down the
cackle of his fighting-cock, which, full-galved, he carries under the
folds of his _serape_!  All this under the roof of the sacred temple of
God!

On days of fiesta, the church genuflexions are soon over; and then the
gambling-booth, the race-course, bull-baiting, the cock-pit, and various
minor amusements, come into full operation.  In all these you may meet
the robed priest of the morning, and stake your dollar or doubloon
against his, if you feel so inclined.

"San Juan" is one of the "_fiestas principales_"--one of the most noted
of Mexican ceremonials.  On this day--particularly in a _New_ Mexican
village--the houses are completely deserted.  All people turn out, and
proceed to some well-known locality, usually a neighbouring plain, to
witness the sports--which consist of horse-racing, "tailing the bull,"
"running the cock," and the like.  The intervals are filled up by
gambling, smoking, and flirtation.

There is much of republican equality exhibited on these occasions.  Rich
and poor, high and low, mingle in the throng, and take part in the
amusements of the day.

It is the day of San Juan.  A broad grassy plain lies just outside the
town of San Ildefonso, and upon this the citizens are assembled.  It is
the scene of the festival, and the sports will soon begin.  Before they
do, let us stroll through the crowd, and note its component parts.  All
classes of the community--in fact, all the community--appear to be
present.  There go the two stout _padres_ of the mission, bustling about
in their long gowns of coarse serge, with bead-string and crucifix
dangling to their knees, and scalp-lock close shaven.  The Apache will
find no trophy on their crowns.

There is the _cura_ of the town church, conspicuous in his long black
cloak, shovel hat, black silk stockings, pumps, and buckles.  Now
smiling benignly upon the crowd, now darting quick Jesuitical glance
from his dark ill-meaning eyes, and now playing off his white jewelled
fingers, as he assists some newly-arrived "senora" to climb to her seat.
Great "ladies' men" are these same black-gowned bachelor-churchmen of
Mexico.

We have arrived in front of several rows of seats raised above one
another.  Let us observe who occupy them.  At a glance it is apparent
they are in possession of the "_familias principales_," the aristocracy
of the settlement.  Yes--there is the rich "_comerciante_," Don Jose
Rincon, his fat wife, and four fat sleepy-looking daughters.  There,
too, is the wife and family of the "Alcalde," and this magistrate
himself with tasselled official staff; and the Echevarrias--pretty
creatures that they think themselves--under care of their brother, the
beau, who has discarded the national costume for the _mode de Paris_!
There is the rich "_hacendado_," Senor Gomez del Monte, the owner of
countless flocks and broad acres in the valley; and there are others of
his class with their senoras and senoritas.  And there, too, observed of
all, is the lovely Catalina de Cruces, the daughter of Don Ambrosio, the
wealthy miner.  He will be a lucky fellow who wins the smiles of
Catalina, or rather perhaps the good graces of her father--for Don
Ambrosio will have much to say in the matter of her marriage.  Indeed,
it is rumoured that that matter is already arranged; and that Captain
Roblado, second in command at the Presidio, is the successful suitor.
There stands he, in full moustache, covered with gold-lace, back and
front, and frowning fiercely on every one who dares to rest eye for a
moment upon the fair Catalina.  With all his gold-lace and gallant
strut, Catalina displays no great taste in her choice;--but is he her
choice?  Maybe not--maybe he is the choice of Don Ambrosio; who, himself
of plebeian origin, is ambitious that his blood should be mingled with
that of the military hidalgo.  The soldier has no money--beyond his pay;
and that is mortgaged for months in advance; but he is a true
_Gachupino_, of "blue blood," a genuine "hijo de algo."  Not a singular
ambition of the old miser, nor uncommon among parvenus.

Vizcarra, the Comandante, is on the ground--a tall colonel of forty--
laced and plumed like a peacock.  A lively bachelor is he; and while
chatting with padre, cura, or alcalde, his eye wanders to the faces of
the pretty _poblanas_ that are passing the spot.  These regard his
splendid uniform with astonishment, which he, fancying himself "Don Juan
Tenorio," mistakes for admiration, and repays with a bland smile.

There, too, is the third officer--there are but the three--the
_teniente_, Garcia by name.  He is better looking, and consequently more
of a favourite with both poblanas and rich senoritas, than either of his
superiors.  I wonder the fair Catalina does not give her preference to
him.  Who can tell that she does not?  A Mexican dame does not carry her
soul upon her sleeve, nor upon her tongue neither.

It would be a task to tell of whom Catalina is thinking just now.  It is
not likely at her age--she is twenty--that her heart is still her own;
but whose?  Roblado's?  I would wager, no.  Garcia's?  That would be a
fairer bet.  After all, there are many others--young "hacendados,"
employes of the mines, and a few merchant dandies of the town.  Her
choice may be some one of these.  _Quien sabe_?

Let us on through the crowd!

We see the soldiers of the garrison, with tinkling spurs and long
trailing sabres, mingling fraternally with the serape-clad tradesmen,
the _gambucinos_, and _rancheros_ of the valley.  They imitate their
officers in strut and swagger--the very character of which enables one
to tell that the military power is here in the ascendant.  They are all
dragoons--infantry would not avail against an Indian enemy--and they
fancy that the loud clinking of their spurs, and the rattle of their
steel scabbards, add greatly to their importance.  They have their eyes
after the poblanas, and the sweethearts of the poblanas keep their eyes
after them in a constant vigil of jealousy.

The "poblanas" are the pretty girls of the place; but, pretty or plain,
all the girls are out to-day in their best and gayest apparel.  Some
wear _enaguas_ of blue--others of scarlet--others of purple; and many of
them tastefully flounced at the bottoms with a trimming of narrow lace.
They wear the embroidered chemisette, with its snow-white frills, and
the blueish _reboso_, gracefully arranged, so as to conceal neck, bosom,
arms, and, in some cases of coquetry, even the face!  Ere night this
jealous garment will have lost half its prudery.  Already the prettier
faces peep forth; and you may see, from the softness of the complexion,
that they have been just washed free of the "allegria" that for the last
two weeks has rendered them hideous.

The "rancheros" are in their full and beautiful costume--velveteen
trousers, wide at the bottoms and open up the sides; _botas_ of
unstained leather; jackets of tanned sheepskin; or velveteen richly
embroidered; fancy-worked shirts underneath; and scarfs of rich red silk
around the waist.  Over all the broad-brimmed _sombrero_, of black
glaze, with silver or gold band, and tags of the same, screwed into the
crown.  Some have no jacket, but the serape, hanging negligently from
their shoulders, serves in place of one.  All of these men have horses
with them; and on their feet may be seen spurs full five pounds in
weight, with rowels three, four, and even five inches in diameter!

The "gambucinos," and young men of the town, the smaller tradespeople,
are very similarly attired; but those of higher class--the officials and
"comerciantes"--are clad in broad-cloth jackets and pantaloons, not
exactly of European cut, but approaching it--a sort of compromise
between Paris fashions and the native costume of the country.

Another costume may be noticed, worn by many of the crowd.  This is the
dress of the native "Pueblos", or _Indios mansos_--the poor labourers of
the mines, and the neophytes of the mission.  It is a simple dress, and
consists of an upper garment, the _tilma_, a sort of coat without
sleeves.  A coffee-sack with a hole ripped in the bottom for the head to
pass through, and a slit cut in each side for the arms, would make the
"tilma."  It has no waist, and hangs nearly to the hips without other
fastening than the support at the shoulders.  The tilma is usually a
piece of coarse rug--a cheap woollen cloth of the country, called
"gerga," of a whitish colour, with a few dyed threads to give the
semblance of a pattern.  This with a pair of dressed sheepskin breeches
and rude sandals--_guaraches_--constitutes the wear of most of the
"Indios mansos" of Mexico.  The head is bare; and the legs, from the
knee to the ankle, shine forth in all their copper-coloured nakedness.

Of these dark aborigines--the "peons" of the mission and the mines--
there are hundreds stalking about, while their wives and daughters sit
squatted upon the ground in rear of their _petates_; upon which are
piled the fruits of the soil--the _tunas, petahayas_, plums, apricots,
grapes, _sandias_, and other species of melons, with roasted nuts of the
pinon-tree, the produce of the neighbouring mountains.  Others keep
stands of _dulces_ and _agua-miel_ or _limonada_; while others sell
small loaves--_piloncilios_--of corn-stalk sugar, or baked roots of the
agave.  Some squat before fires, and prepare _tortillas_ and _chile
Colorado_; or melt the sugared chocolate cake in their urn-like earthen
_ollas_.  From these humble "hucksters," a hot peppery stew, a dish of
_atole_, or a bowl of _pinole_, is to be had for a few _clacos_.  There
are other stands where you can buy cigarillos of _punche_, or a drink of
the fiery _aguardiente_ from Taos or El Paso; and these stands are
favourite resorts of the thirsty miners and soldiers.  There are no
"booths," but most of the hucksters protect themselves from the sun by a
huge screen of palmetto mat (_petate_) placed umbrella-like over their
heads.

There is one class of persons yet to be spoken of--an important class at
the festival of San Juan--they who are to be competitors in the sports--
the real wrestlers in the games.

These are young men of all grades in society, and all of them mounted--
of course, each in the best way he can.  There they go, prancing over
the ground, causing their gaily caparisoned steeds to caper and curvet,
especially in front of the tiers of seated senoritas.  There are miners
among them, and young _hacendados_, and _rancheros_, and _vaqueros_, and
_ciboleros_, and young merchants who ride well.  Every one rides well in
Mexico--even the dwellers in cities are good horsemen.

Nearly a hundred are there of these youths who intend to take part in
the various trials of skill in equitation.

Let the sports begin!



CHAPTER THREE.

The first exhibition on the programme was to be the _coleo de toros_,
which may be rendered in English as "tailing the bull."  It is only in
the very large cities of Mexico where a regular _plaza de toros_, or
arena for the bull-fight, is to be found; but in every tillage, however
insignificant, the spoil of bull-tailing may be witnessed, as this only
requires an open plain, and as wild a bull as can be procured.  The
sport is not quite so exciting as the bull-fight, as it is less perilous
to those engaged in it.  Not unfrequently, however, a gored horse or a
mutilated rider is produced by the "coleo;" and fatal accidents have
occurred at times.  The horses, too, sometimes stumble, and both horse
and rider are trampled by the others crowding from behind, so that in
the pellmell drive awkward accidents are anything but uncommon.  The
coleo is, therefore, a game of strength, courage, and skill; and to
excel in it is an object of high ambition among the youth of a New
Mexican settlement.

The arrangements having been completed, it was announced by a herald
that the coleo was about to begin.  These arrangements were simple
enough, and consisted in collecting the crowd to one side, so that the
bull, when let loose, would have a clear track before him in the
direction of the open country.  Should he not be allowed this favour he
might head _towards_ the crowd,--a thing to be apprehended.  In fear of
this, most of the women were to be seen mounting into the rude
_carretas_, scores of which were upon the ground, having carried their
owners to the spectacle.  Of course the senoras and senoritas on the
raised benches felt secure.

The competitors were now drawn up in a line.  There were a dozen
detailed for this first race,--young men of all classes, who were, or
fancied themselves, "crack" riders.  There were rancheros in their
picturesque attire, smart arrieros, miners from the hills, townsmen,
hacendados of the valley, vaqueros from the grazing-farms, and
ciboleros, whose home is for the most part on the wide prairies.
Several dragoons, too, were arrayed with the rest, eager to prove their
superiority in the _manege_ of the horse.

At a given signal the bull was brought forth from a neighbouring
_corral_.  He was not led by men afoot,--that would have been a
dangerous undertaking.  His conductors were well-mounted vaqueros, who,
with their lazoes around his horns, were ready, in case of his showing
symptoms of mutiny, to fling him to the earth by a jerk.

A vicious-looking brute he appeared, with shaggy frontlet and scowling
lurid eye.  It was _plain_ that it only needed a little goading to make
him a still more terrible object; for he already swept his tail angrily
against his flanks, tossed his long straight horns in the air, snorted
sharply, and beat the turf at intervals with his hoofs.  He was
evidently one of the fiercest of a fierce race--the race of Spanish
bulls.

Every eye was fixed upon him with interest, and the spectators freely
commented upon his qualities.  Some thought him too fat, others alleged
he was just in the condition to make a good run--as, in the coleo,
speed, not courage, is the desirable quality.  This difference of
opinions led to the laying of numerous wagers on the result,--that is,
the time that should elapse from the start until the bull should be
"tailed" and "thrown."  The throwing of the bull, of course ends the
chase.

When it is considered that the brute selected is one of the strongest,
swiftest, and fiercest of his kind, and that no weapon--not even the
lazo--is allowed, it will be admitted this is a matter of no easy
accomplishment.  The animal goes at full run, almost as fast as the
horse can gallop; and to bring him to the ground under these
circumstances requires the performance of a feat, and one that demands
skill, strength, and the best of horsemanship.  That feat is to seize
the bull by the tail, and jerk the animal off his legs!

The bull was led out some two hundred yards beyond the line of horsemen,
where he was halted, with his head turned to the open plain.  The
lazoes, that held him by a leash-knot, were then cautiously slipped, two
or three fire-squibs, pointed and barbed, were shot into his hips, and
away he went amidst the yells of the spectators!

Next moment the riders spurred after, each shouting in his own fashion.

Soon the line was broken, and a confused spread of horsemen, like a
"field" of fox-hunters, was seen scouring over the plain.  Each moment
the troop became elongated, until what had started in line was now
strung out in double and single file to a length of several hundred
yards.  Still on they went, whipping, and spurring, and urging their
steeds to the utmost.

The bull, maddened by the arrowy squibs, and terrified by their hissing,
ran at the top of his speed in a nearly direct line.  The start he had
been allowed was not so easily taken up, even by fast riders, and he had
got a full mile or more before any one neared him.  Then a dragoon,
mounted on a large bay horse, was seen pressing him closely, and at
length laying hold of the tail.  He was observed to give it a jerk or
two, as though endeavouring to fling the brute by sheer strength.  It
was a failure, however; for the next moment the bull shot out in a side
direction, and left his pursuer behind.

A young hacendado, splendidly horsed, was next upon his flanks; but each
time he reached forth to grasp the tail it was whisked beyond his reach.
He succeeded at length in seizing it; but the bull, making a sudden
lurch, whipped his tail from the rider's hands, and left him also in the
rear.

One condition of the "coleo" was, that each competitor, after having
once failed, should retire from the ground; so that the hacendado and
the dragoon were now actually _hors de chasse_.

These were seen riding back, though not directly in front of the
spectators.  They preferred making a roundabout thing of it, so that
their fallen faces might not be too closely scanned on their return.

On went the bull, and after him the eager and excited horsemen.  Another
dragoon soon tried his "pluck," and also failed; and then a vaquero, and
another horseman, and another, with like success--each failure being
hailed by a groan from the crowd.  There were several tumbles, too, at
which the spectators laughed heartily; and one horse was badly gored,
having headed the bull and got entangled upon his horns.

In less than ten minutes eleven out of the twelve competitors were seen
returning from the chase.

Only one now remained to make his trial.  The bull had proved a splendid
fellow, and was already in high favour, and loudly applauded by the
spectators.

"_Bravo, toro! bravissimo_!" was heard on all sides.  All eyes were now
turned upon the enraged animal, and his one remaining pursuer.  Both
were still near enough to be well observed, for the chase had led
hitherto, not in one line, but in different directions over the plain;
so that the bull was actually no farther from the crowd than when first
overtaken by the dragoon.  He was at this moment running in a cross
course, so that every movement of both pursuer and pursued could be well
observed from the stand.

At the first glance it was plain that the bull had now behind him the
handsomest horse and horseman upon the field--would they prove the best?
That was to be tried.

The horse was a large coal-black _mustang_, with a long full tail,
pointed at the tip, and carried like the brush of a running fox.  Even
while in gallop, his neck slightly curved, and his proud figure,
displayed against the smooth sward, called forth expressions of
admiration.

The rider was a young man of twenty or over; and his light curling hair
and white-red complexion distinguished him from all his competitors--who
were, without exception, dark-skinned men.  He was dressed in full
ranchero costume, with its rich broidery and trappings; and instead of
the usual "serape," he wore a purple _manga_--a more graceful, as well
as costlier garment.  The long skirts of this he had flung behind him,
in order to have his arms free; and its folds, opening to the breeze,
added to the gracefulness of his carriage in the saddle.

The sudden appearance of this splendid horseman--for, hanging in the
rear with folded manga, he seemed not to have been noticed before,--
caused unusual attention, and many were heard inquiring his name.

"_Carlos the cibolero_!" cried a voice, loud enough to satisfy all at
once.

Some evidently knew who "Carlos the cibolero" was, though by far the
greater number on the ground did not.  Of the former, one was heard
inquiring--

"Why hasn't he come up before?--He could have done so if he had wished."

"_Carrambo_! yes," added another.  "He might have done so.  He only hung
back to give the others a trial.  He knew none of them could throw
_that_ bull.  _Mira_!"

The speaker's conjecture was, no doubt, correct.

It was plain, at first sight, that this rider could easily overtake the
bull.  His horse was still in a gentle gallop, and, though his ears were
set and his red nostrils staring open, it was only through the
excitement of the chase, and chafing at being hitherto checked.  The
bridle-rein was, in fact, still tightly drawn.

As the speaker uttered the cautionary phrase "_Mira_!" a change was
suddenly observed in the manner of the horseman.  He was about twenty
paces from the chase and directly in the rear.  All at once his horse
sprang forward at double his former speed, and in a few stretches laid
himself alongside the bull.  The rider was observed to grasp the long
outstretched tail, and then lean forward and downward.  The next moment
he raised himself with a sudden jerk, and the huge horned creature
turned sprawling upon his back.  The whole thing seemed to cost him no
more effort than if the bull had been a tom-cat.  Loud "_vivas_!" broke
from the spectators, and the victorious horseman rode back in front of
the stand, modestly bowed his thanks, and then retired into the depth of
the crowd.

There were not wanting those who fancied that in bowing the eyes of the
cibolero were directed on the fair Catalina de Cruces; and some went so
far as to assert that she smiled and looked content; but that could not
be.  The heiress of the rich Don Ambrosio smile to a compliment from a
cibolero!

There was one, however, who _did_ smile.  That was a fair-haired,
fair-skinned girl, who stood upon one of the carretas, by the side of
which the victor had placed himself.  Side by side those two faces
seemed one.  They were of one blood,--one colour,--one race: were they
not brother and sister?  Yes,--the fair girl was the sister of the
cibolero.  She was smiling from happiness at the thought of her
brother's triumph.

A strange-looking woman was seated in the bottom of the carreta--an old
woman, with long flowing hair, white as flax.  She was silent, but her
sharp eyes were bent upon the cibolero with a triumphant expression.
Some regarded her with curiosity, but most with fear, akin to awe.
These knew something of her, and whispered strange tales to one another.

"_Esta una bruxa_!--_una hechicera_!"  (She is a witch! a charmer!) said
they.

This they muttered in low tones lest they might be heard by Carlos or
the girl.  _She was their mother_!



CHAPTER FOUR.

The sports continue.  The bull thrown by the cibolero, now cowed, walks
moodily across the plain.  He would not serve for a second run, so he is
lazoed and led off,--to be delivered to the victor as his prize.

A second is brought forth and started, with a fresh dozen of horsemen at
his heels.

These seem to be better matched, or rather the bull has not run off so
well, as all overtake him at once, riding past him in their headlong
speed.  Most unexpectedly the animal turns in his tracks, and runs back,
heading directly for the stand!

Loud screams are heard from the poblanas in the carretas--from the
senoras and senoritas.  No wonder.  In ten seconds the enraged brute
will be in their midst!

The pursuing horsemen are still far behind him.  The sudden turning in
their headlong race threw them out of distance.  Even the foremost of
them cannot come up in time.

The other horsemen are all dismounted.  No man on foot will dare to
check the onward rush of a goaded bull!

Confusion and loud shouting among the men, terror and screaming among
the women, are the characteristics of the scene.  Lives will be lost--
perhaps many.  None know but that they themselves may be the victims!

The strings of carretas filled with their terrified occupants flank the
stand on each side; but, running farther out into the plain, form with
it a sort of semicircle.  The bull enters this semicircle, and guided by
the carretas rushes down, heading directly for the benches, as though
determined to break through in that direction.  The ladies have risen to
their feet, and, half-frantic, seem as though they would leap down upon
the very horns of the monster they dread!  It is a fearful crisis for
them.

Just at this moment a man is seen advancing, lazo in hand, in front of
the carretas.  He is afoot.  As soon as he has detached himself from the
crowd, he spins the lazo round his head, and the noose shooting out is
seen to settle over the horns of the bull.

Without losing a moment the man runs to a small tree that stands near
the centre of the semicircle, and hastily coils the other end of the
lazo around its trunk.  Another moment, and he would have been too late.

The knot is scarcely tied, when a heavy pluck announces that the bull
has reached the end of his rope, and the foiled brute is now seen thrown
back upon his hips, with the _lazo_ tightly noosed over his horns.  He
has fallen at the very feet of the spectators!

"_Bravo! viva_!" cried a hundred voices, as soon as their owners had
sufficiently recovered from their terror to call out.

"_Viva.  Viva_!  Carlos the cibolero!"

It was he who had performed this second feat of skill and daring.

The bull was not yet conquered, however.  He was only confined within a
certain range--the circle of the lazo--and, rising to his feet, with a
furious roar he rushed forward at the crowd.  Fortunately the lazo was
not long enough to enable him to reach the spectators on either side;
and again he tumbled back upon his haunches.  There was a scattering on
all sides, as it was feared he might still slip the noose; but the
horsemen had now come up.  Fresh lazoes were wound about his neck,
others tripped up his legs, and he was at length flung violently upon
the ground and his quarters well stretched.

He was now completely conquered, and would run no more; and as but two
bulls had been provided for the occasion, the "coleo de toros" was for
that day at an end.

Several lesser feats of horsemanship were next exhibited, while
preparations were being made for another of the grand games of the day.
Those were by way of interlude, and were of various kinds.  One was
throwing the lazo upon the foot of a person running at full speed,
noosing him around the ankle, and of course tripping him up.  This was
done by men both mounted and afoot; and so many accomplished it, that it
could hardly be deemed a "feat:" nor was it regarded as such among the
more skilful, who disdained to take part in it.

Picking up the hat was next exhibited.  This consisted in the rider
throwing his hat upon the ground, and then recovering it from the
saddle, while his horse swept past at full gallop.  Nearly every rider
on the spot was equal to this feat, and only the younger ones looked
upon it as a proof of skill.  Of these some twenty could now be seen
wheeling about at a gallop and ducking down for their sombreros, which
they had previously dropped.

But it is not so easy to pick up smaller objects, and a piece of coin
lying flat upon the ground tries the skill of the best "cavallero."

The Comandante Vizcarra now stepped forth and commanded silence.
Placing a Spanish dollar upon the smooth turf, he called out--

"This to the man who can take it up at the first trial.  Five gold onzas
that Sergeant Gomez will perform the feat!"

There was silence for a while.  Five gold "onzas" (doubloons) was a
large sum of money.  Only a "rico" could afford to lose such a sum.

After a pause, however, there came a reply.  A young ranchero stepped
forth:--

"Colonel Vizcarra," said he, "I will not bet that Sergeant Gomez cannot
perform the feat; but I'll wager there's another on the ground can do it
as well as he.  Double the amount if you please."

"Name your man!" said Vizcarra.

"Carlos the cibolero."

"Enough--I accept your wager.  Any one else may have their trial,"
continued Vizcarra, addressing the crowd.  "I shall replace the dollar
whenever it is taken up--only one attempt, remember!"

Several made the attempt and failed.  Some touched the coin, and even
drew it from its position, but no one succeeded in lifting it.

At length a dragoon mounted on a large bay appeared in the list, who was
recognised as the Sergeant Gomez.  He was the same that had first come
up with the bull, but failed to fling him; and no doubt that failure
dwelling still in his thoughts added to the natural gloom of his very
sallow face.  He was a man of large size, unquestionably a good rider,
but he lacked that symmetrical shape that gives promise of sinewy
activity.

The feat required little preparation.  The sergeant looked to his
saddle-girths, disencumbered himself of his sabre and belts, and then
set his steed in motion.

In a few minutes he directed his horse so as to shave past the shining
coin, and then, bending down, he tried to seize it.  He succeeded in
lifting it up from the ground; but, owing to the slight hold he had
taken, it dropped from his fingers before he had got it to the height of
the stirrup.

A shout, half of applause and half of disapprobation, came from the
crowd.  Most were disposed to favour him on Vizcarra's account.  Not
that they loved Colonel Vizcarra, but they _feared_ him, and that made
them loyal.

The cibolero now rode forth upon his shining black.  All eyes were
turned upon him.  His handsome face would have won admiration, but for
its very _fairness_.  Therein lay a secret prejudice.  They knew _he was
not of their race_!

Woman's heart has no prejudice, however; and along that line of
dark-eyed "doncellas" more than one pair of eyes were sparkling with
admiration for the blond "Americano," for of such race was Carlos the
cibolero.

Other eyes than woman's looked favourably on the cibolero, and other
lips murmured applause.  Among the half-brutalised Tagnos, with bent
limbs and downcast look, there were men who dreamt of days gone by; who
knew that their fathers were once free; who in their secret assemblies
in mountain cave, or in the deep darkness of the "estufa," still burned
the "sacred fire" of the god Quetzalcoatl--still talked of Moctezuma and
Freedom.

These, though darker than all others, had no prejudice against the fair
skin of Carlos.  Even over their benighted minds the future had cast
some rays of its light.  A sort of mysterious presentiment, apparently
instinctive, existed among them, that their deliverers from the yoke of
Spanish tyranny would yet come from the East--from beyond the great
plains!

The cibolero scarce deigned to make any preparation.  He did not even
divest himself of his manga, but only threw it carelessly back, and left
its long skirt trailing over the hips of his horse.

Obedient to the voice of his rider, the animal sprang into a gallop; and
then, guided by the touch of the knees, he commenced circling round the
plain, increasing his speed as he went.

Having gained a wide reach, the rider directed his horse towards the
glittering coin.  When nearly over it he bent down from the saddle,
caught the piece in his fingers, flung it up into the air, and then,
suddenly checking his horse underneath, permitted it to drop into his
outstretched palm!

All this was done with the ease and liability of a Hindoo juggler.  Even
the prejudiced could not restrain their applause; and loud _vivas_ for
"Carlos the cibolero" again pealed upon the air.

The sergeant was humiliated.  He had for a long time been victor in
these sports--for Carlos had not been present until this day, or had
never before taken part in them.  Vizcarra was little better pleased.
His favourite humbled--himself the loser of ten golden onzas--no small
sum, even to the Comandante of a frontier Presidio.  Moreover, to be
jibed by the fair senoritas for losing a wager he had himself
challenged, and which, no doubt, he felt certain of winning.  From that
moment Vizcarra liked not "Carlos the cibolero."

The next exhibition consisted in riding at full gallop to the edge of a
deep "zequia" which passed near the spot.  The object of this was to
show the courage and activity of the rider as well as the high training
of the steed.

The zequia--a canal used for irrigation--was of such width that a horse
could not well leap over it, and deep enough to render it no very
pleasant matter for a horseman to get into.  It therefore required both
skill and daring to accomplish the feat.  The animal was to arrive upon
the bank of the canal in full run, and to be drawn up suddenly, so that
his four feet should rest upon the ground inside a certain line.  This
line was marked at less than two lengths of himself from the edge of the
drain.  Of course the bank was quite firm, else the accomplishment of
such a feat would have been impossible.

Many succeeded in doing it to perfection; and an admirable piece of
horsemanship it was.  The horse, suddenly checked in his impetuous
gallop, upon the very brink of the zequia, and drawn back on his
haunches, with head erect, starting eyeballs, and open smoking nostrils,
formed a noble picture to look upon.  Several, however, by way of
contrast, gave the crowd a ludicrous picture to laugh at.  These were
either faint-hearted riders, who stopped short before arriving near the
bank, or bold but unskilful ones, who overshot the mark, and went plunge
into the deep muddy water.  Either class of failure was hailed by groans
and laughter, which the appearance of the half-drowned and dripping
cavaliers, as they weltered out on the bank, rendered almost continuous.
On the other hand, a well-executed manoeuvre elicited _vivas_ of
applause.

No wonder that, under such a system of training and emulation, these
people are the finest riders in the world, and such they certainly are.

It was observed that Carlos the cibolero took no part in this game.
What could be the reason?  His friends alleged that he looked upon it as
unworthy of him.  He had already exhibited a skill in horsemanship of a
superior kind, and to take part in this would be seeking a superfluous
triumph.  Such was in fact the feeling of Carlos.

But the chagrined Comandante had other views.  Captain Roblado as well--
for the latter had seen, or fancied he had seen, a strange expression in
the eyes of Catalina at each fresh triumph of the cibolero.  The two
"militarios" had designs of their own.  Base ones they were, and
intended for the humiliation of Carlos.  Approaching him, they inquired
why he had not attempted the last feat.

"I did not think it worth while," answered the cibolero, in a modest
tone.

"Ho!" cried Roblado, tauntingly; "my good fellow.  You must have other
reasons than that.  It is not so contemptible a feat to rein up on the
edge of that `zanca.'  You fear a ducking, I fancy?"

This was uttered in a tone of banter, loud enough for all to hear; and
Captain Roblado wound up his speech with a jeering laugh.

Now, it was just this ducking that the militarios wished to see.  They
had conceived hopes, that, if Carlos attempted the feat, some accident,
such as the slipping or stumbling of his horse, might lead to that
result; which to them would have been as grateful as it would have been
mortifying to the cibolero.  A man floundering out of a muddy ditch, and
drenched to the skin, however daring the attempt that led to it, would
cut but a sorry figure in the eyes of a holiday crowd; and in such a
situation did they wish to see Carlos placed.

Whether the cibolero suspected their object did not appear.  His reply
does not show.  When it was heard, the "zequia" and its muddy water were
at once forgotten.  A feat of greater interest occupied the attention of
the spectators.



CHAPTER FIVE.

Carlos, seated in his saddle, was silent for a while.  He seemed puzzled
for a reply.  The manner of the two officers, as well as Roblado's
speech, stung him.  To have proceeded to the performance of this very
common feat after all others had given over, merely on the banter of
Roblado and the Comandante, would have been vexatious enough; and yet to
refuse it would lay him open to jeers and insinuations; and, perhaps,
this was their design.

He had reason to suspect some sinister motive.  He knew something of
both the men--of their public character--he could not otherwise, as they
were lords paramount of the place.  But of their private character, too,
he had some knowledge, and that was far from being to their credit.
With regard to Roblado, the cibolero had particular reasons for
disliking _him_--very particular reasons; and but that the former was
still ignorant of a certain fact, he had quite as good a reason for
reciprocating the dislike.  Up to this moment Roblado knew nothing of
the cibolero, who for the most part of his time was absent from the
valley.  Perhaps the officer had never encountered him before, or at all
events had never changed words with him.  Carlos knew _him_ better; and
long ere this encounter, for reasons already hinted at, had regarded him
with dislike.

This feeling was not lessened by the conduct of the officer on the
present occasion.  On the contrary, the haughty jeering tones fell
bitterly upon the ear of the cibolero.  He replied, at length, "Captain
Roblado, I have said it is not worth my while to perform what a
_muchachito_ of ten years old would hardly deem a feat.  I would not
wrench my horse's mouth for such a pitiful exhibition as running him up
on the edge of that harmless gutter; but if--"

"Well, if what?" eagerly inquired Roblado, taking advantage of the
pause, and half suspecting Carlos' design.

"If _you_ feel disposed to risk a doubloon--I am but a poor hunter, and
cannot place more--I shall attempt what a muchachito of ten years
_would_ consider a feat perhaps."

"And what may that be, Senor Cibolero?" asked the officer, sneeringly.

"I will check my horse at full gallop _on the brow of yonder cliff_!"

"Within two lengths from the brow?"

"Within two lengths--less--the same distance that is traced here on the
banks of the zequia!"

The surprise created by this announcement held the bystanders for some
moments in silence.  It was a proposal of such wild and reckless daring
that it was difficult to believe that the maker of it was in earnest.
Even the two officers were for a moment staggered by it, and inclined to
fancy the cibolero was not serious but mocking them.

The cliff to which Carlos had pointed was part of the bluff that hemmed
in the valley.  It was a sort of promontory, however, that jutted out
from the general line, so as to be a conspicuous object from the plain
below.  Its brow was of equal height with the rest of the precipice, of
which it was a part--a sort of buttress--and the grassy turf that
appeared along its edge was but the continuation of the upper plateau.
Its front to the valley was vertical, without terrace or ledge, although
horizontal seams traversing its face showed a stratification of lime and
sandstone alternating with each other.  From the sward upon the valley
to the brow above the height was one thousand feet sheer.  To gaze up to
it was a trial to delicate nerves--to look down put the stoutest to the
proof.

Such was the cliff upon whose edge the cibolero proposed to rein up his
steed.  No wonder the proposal was received with a surprise that caused
a momentary silence in the crowd.  When that passed, voices were heard
exclaiming,--"Impossible!"

"He is mad!"

"Pah! he's joking!"

"_Esta burlando los militarios_!"  (He's mocking the military gents);
and such-like expressions.

Carlos sat playing with his bridle-rein, and waiting for a reply.

He had not long to wait.  Vizcarra and Roblado muttered some hasty words
between themselves; and then, with an eagerness of manner, Roblado cried
out--

"I accept the wager!"

"And I another onza!" added the Comandante.

"Senores," said Carlos, with an air of apparent regret, "I am sorry I
cannot take both.  This doubloon is all I have in the world; and it's
not likely I could borrow another just now."

As he said this Carlos regarded the crowd with a smile, but many of
these were in no humour for smiling.  They were really awed by the
terrible fate which they believed awaited the reckless cibolero.  A
voice, however, answered him:--

"Twenty onzas, Carlos, for any other purpose.  But I cannot encourage
this mad project."

It was the young ranchero, his former backer, who spoke.

"Thank you, Don Juan," replied the cibolero.  "I know you would lend
them.  Thank you all the same.  Do not fear!  I'll win the onza.  Ha!
ha! ha!  I haven't been twenty years in the saddle to be bantered by a
_Gachupino_."

"Sir!" thundered Vizcarra and Roblado in a breath, at the same time
grasping the hilts of their swords, and frowning in a fierce threatening
manner.

"Oh! gentlemen, don't be offended," said Carlos, half sneeringly.  "It
only slipped from my tongue.  I meant no insult, I assure you."

"Then keep your tongue behind your teeth, my good fellow," threatened
Vizcarra.  "Another slip of the kind may cost you a fall."

"Thank you, Senor Comandante," replied Carlos, still laughing.  "Perhaps
I'll take your advice."

The only rejoinder uttered by the Comandante was a fierce "Carrajo!"
which Carlos did not notice; for at this moment his sister, having heard
of his intention, sprang down from the carreta and came running forward,
evidently in great distress.

"Oh, brother Carlos!" she cried, reaching out her arms, and grasping him
by the knees, "Is it true?  Surely it is not true?"

"What, _hermanita_?"  (little sister), he asked with a smile.

"That you--"

She could utter no more, but turned her eyes, and pointed to the cliff.

"Certainly, Rosita, and why not?  For shame, girl!  Don't be alarmed--
there's nought to fear, I assure you--I've done the like before."

"Dear, dear Carlos, I know you are a brave horseman--none braver--but
oh! think of the danger--_Dios de mi alma_! think of--"

"Pshaw, sister! don't shame me before the people--come to mother!--hear
what she will say.  I warrant she won't regard it."  And, so saying, the
cibolero rode up to the carreta, followed by his sister.

Poor Rosita!  Eyes gleamed upon you at that moment that saw you for the
first time--eyes in whose dark orbs lay an expression that boded you no
good.  Your fair form, the angelic beauty of your face--perhaps your
very grief--awakened interest in a heart whose love never meant else
than ruin to its object.  It was the heart of Colonel Vizcarra.

"_Mira_!  Roblado!" muttered he to his subordinate and fellow-villain.
"See yonder!  _Santisima Virgen_!  Saint Guadalupe!  Look, man!  Venus,
as I'm a Christian and a soldier!  In the name of all the saints, what
sky has she fallen from?"

"For _Dios_!  I never saw her before," replied the captain; "she must be
the sister of this fellow: yes--hear them! they address each other as
brother and sister!  She _is_ pretty!"

"_Ay de mi_!" sighed the Comandante.  "What a godsend!  I was growing
dull--very dull of this monotonous frontier life.  With this new
excitement, perhaps, I may kill another month.  Will she last me that
long, think you?"

"Scarcely--if she come and go as easily as the rest.  What! already
tired of Inez?"

"Poh! poh! loved me too much; and that I can't bear.  I would rather too
little if anything."

"Perhaps this blonde may please you better in that respect.  But, see!
they are off!"

As Roblado spoke, Carlos and his sister had moved forward to the carreta
which held their aged mother, and were soon in conversation with her.

The Comandante and his captain, as well as a large number of the
spectators, followed, and crowded around to listen.

"She wants to persuade me against it, mother," Carlos was heard to say.
He had already communicated his design.  "Without _your_ consent, I will
not.  But hear me, dear mother; I have half pledged myself, and I wish
to make good my pledge.  It is a _point of honour_, mother."

The last phrase was spoken loudly and emphatically in the ear of the old
woman, who appeared to be a little deaf.

"Who wants to dissuade you?" she asked, raising her head, and glancing
upon the circle of faces.  "Who?"

"Rosita, mother."

"Let Rosita to her loom, and weave rebosos--that's what she's fit for.
You, my son, can do great things--deeds, ay, deeds; else have you not in
your veins the blood of your father.  _He_ did deeds--_he_--ha! ha! ha!"

The strange laugh caused the spectators to start, accompanied, as it
was, with the wild look of her who uttered it.

"Go!" cried she, tossing back her long flax-coloured locks, and waving
her arms in the air--"go, Carlos the cibolero, and show the tawny
cowards--slaves that they are--what a free American can do.  To the
cliff! to the cliff!"

As she uttered the awful command, she sank back into the carreta, and
relapsed into her former silence.

Carlos interrogated her no further.  The expressions she had let slip
had rendered him somewhat eager to close the conversation; for he
noticed that they were not lost on several of the bystanders.  The
officers, as well as the priests and alcalde, exchanged significant
glances while she was uttering them.

Placing his sister once more in the carreta, and giving her a parting
embrace, Carlos leaped to the back of his steed, and rode forth upon the
plain.  When at some distance he reined in, and bent his eyes for a
moment upon the tiers of benches where sat the senoras and senoritas of
the town.  A commotion could be observed among them.  They had heard of
the intended feat, and many would have dissuaded the cibolero from the
perilous attempt.

There was one whose heart was full to bursting--full as that of Carlos'
own sister; and yet she dared not show it to those around.  She was
constrained to sit in silent agony, and suffer.

Carlos knew this.  He drew a white handkerchief from his bosom, and
waved it in the air, as though bidding some one an adieu.  Whether he
was answered could not be told; but the next moment he wheeled his
horse, and galloped off towards the cliffs.

There were conjectures among the senoras and senoritas, among the
poblanas too, as to who was the recipient of that parting salute.  Many
guesses were made, many names mentioned, and scandal ran the rounds.
One only of all knew in her heart for whom the compliment was meant--in
her heart overflowing with love and fear.



CHAPTER SIX.

All who had horses followed the cibolero, who now directed himself
towards a path that led from the valley to the table above.  This path
wound up the cliffs by zigzag turnings, and was the only one by which
the upper plain could be reached at that point.  A corresponding road
traversed the opposite bluff, so that the valley might be here crossed;
and this was the only practicable crossing for several miles up and
down.

Though but a thousand feet separated the valley and table-land, the path
leading from one to the other was nearly a mile in length; and as it was
several miles from the scene of the festival to the bottom of the cliff,
only those accompanied Carlos who were mounted, with a few others
determined to witness every manoeuvre of this fearful attempt.  Of
course, the officers were of the party who went up.  The rest of the
people remained in the valley, but moved forward in the direction of the
cliffs, so that they would be able to observe the more interesting and
thrilling part of the spectacle.

For more than an hour those on the plain were kept waiting; but they did
not allow the time to pass unimproved.  A _monte_ table had been spread
out over which both gold and silver changed hands rapidly, the two
padres of the mission being among the highest bettors; and the senoras,
among themselves, had a quiet little game of their favourite _chuza_.  A
"main" between a pair of sturdy chanticleers, one belonging to the
alcalde and the other to the _cura_ (!), furnished the interlude for
another half-hour.  In this contest the representative of the Church was
triumphant.  His grey cock ("pardo") killed the alcalde's red one at a
single blow, by striking one of his long steel galves through the
latter's head.  This was regarded as a very interesting and pleasant
spectacle by all on the ground--ladies included, and alcalde excepted.

By the time the cock-fight was finished, the attention of the crowd
became directed to the movements of the party who had gone up to the
upper plain.  These were now seen along the edge of the cliff, and by
their manoeuvres it was evident they were engaged in arranging the
preliminaries of the perilous adventure.  Let us join them.

The cibolero, on gaining the ground, pointed out the spot where he had
proposed to execute his daring design.  From the plain above the cliffs
were not visible, and even the great abyss of the valley itself could
not be seen a hundred paces back from the edge of the bluff.  There was
no escarpment or slope of any kind.  The turf ran in to the very edge of
the precipice, and on the same level with the rest of the plain.  It was
smooth and firm--covered with a short sward of _gramma_ grass.  There
was neither break nor pebble to endanger the hoof.  No accident could
arise from that cause.

The spot chosen, as already stated, was a sort of buttress-like
promontory that stood out from the line of bluffs.  This formation was
more conspicuous from below.  Viewing it from above, it resembled a
tongue-like continuation of the plain.

Carlos first rode out to its extremity, and carefully examined the turf.
It was just of the proper firmness to preclude the possibility of a
horse's hoof either sliding or sinking into it.  He was accompanied by
Vizcarra, Roblado, and others.  Many approached the spot, but kept at a
safe distance from the edge of the horrid steep.  Though denizens of
this land of grand geological features, there were many present who
dreaded to stand upon the brow of that fearful ledge and look below.

The cibolero sat upon his horse, on its very edge, as calm as if he had
been on the banks of the zequia, and directed the marking of the line.
His horse showed no symptoms of nervousness.  It was evident he was
well-trained to such situations.  Now and then he stretched out his
neck, gazed down into the valley, and, recognising some of his kind
below, uttered a shrill neigh.  Carlos purposely kept him on the cliff,
in order to accustom him to it before making the terrible trial.

The line was soon traced, less than two lengths of the horse from the
last grass on the turf.  Vizcarra and Roblado would have insisted upon
short measure; but their proposal to curtail it was received with
murmurs of disapprobation and mutterings of "Shame!"

What did these men want?  Though not evident to the crowd, they
certainly desired the death of the cibolero.  Both had their reasons.
Both hated the man.  The cause or causes of their hatred were of late
growth,--with Roblado still later than his Comandante.  He had observed
something within the hour that had rendered him furious.  He had
observed the waving of that white kerchief; and as he stood by the stand
he had seen to whom the "adios" was addressed.  It had filled him with
astonishment and indignation; and his language to Carlos had assumed a
bullying and brutal tone.

Horrible as such a supposition may seem, both he and Vizcarra would have
rejoiced to see the cibolero tumble over the bluff.  Horrible indeed it
seems; but such were the men, and the place, and the times, that there
is nothing improbable in it.  On the contrary, cases of equal
barbarity--wishes and _acts_ still more inhuman--are by no means rare
under the skies of "Nuevo Mexico."

The young ranchero, who had accompanied the party to the upper plain,
insisted upon fair play.  Though but a ranchero, he was classed among
the "ricos," and, being a fellow of spirit, urged Carlos' rights, even
in the face of the moustached and scowling militarios.

"Here, Carlos!" cried he, while the arrangements were progressing; "I
see you are bent on this madness; and since I cannot turn you from it, I
shall not embarrass you.  But you sha'n't risk yourself for such a
trifle.  My purse! bet what sum you will."

As he said this, he held out a purse to the cibolero, which, from its
bulk, evidently contained a large, amount.

Carlos regarded the purse for a moment without making answer.  He was
evidently gratified by the noble offer.  His countenance showed that he
was deeply touched by the kindness of the youth.  "No," said he, at
length; "no, Don Juan.  I thank you with all my heart, but I cannot take
your purse--one onza, nothing more.  I should like to stake one against
the Comandante."

"As many as you please," urged the ranchero.

"Thank you, Don Juan! only one--that with my own will be two.--Two
onzas!--that, in faith, is the largest bet I have ever made.  _Vaya_! a
poor cibolero staking a double onza!"

"Well, then," replied Don Juan, "if you don't, I shall.  Colonel
Vizcarra!" said he aloud, addressing himself to the Comandante, "I
suppose you would like to win back your wager.  Carlos will now take
your bet for the onza, and I challenge you to place ten."

"Agreed!" said the Comandante, stiffly.

"Dare you double it?" inquired the ranchero.

"Dare I, sir?" echoed the Colonel, indignant at being thus challenged in
the presence of the spectators.  "Quadruple it, if you wish, sir."

"Quadruple then!" retorted the other.  "Forty onzas that Carlos performs
the feat!"

"Enough! deposit your stakes!"

The golden coins were counted out, and held by one of the bystanders,
and judges were appointed.

The arrangements having been completed, the spectators drew back upon
the plain, and left the cibolero in full possession of the promontory--
alone with his horse.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

All stood watching him with interested eyes.  Every movement was noted.

He first alighted from the saddle, stripped off his manga, had it
carried back and placed out of the way.  He next looked to his spurs, to
see that the straps were properly buckled.  After this he re-tied his
sash, and placed the sombrero firmly on his head.  He buttoned his
velveteen calzoneros down nearly to his ankles, so that their leathern
bottoms might not flap open and discommode him.  His hunting-knife along
with his "whip" were sent back to the charge of Don Juan.

His attention was next turned to his horse, that stood all this while
curving his neck proudly as though he divined that he was to be called
upon for some signal service.  The bridle was first scrutinised.  The
great bit--a Mameluke--was carefully examined, lest there might be some
flaw or crack in the steel.  The head-strap was buckled to its proper
tightness, and then the reins were minutely scanned.  These were of the
hair of wild horses' tails closely and neatly plaited.  Leather might
snap, there was no fear of breaking such cords as these.

The saddle now had its turn.  Passing from side to side, Carlos tried
both stirrup-leathers, and examined the great wooden blocks which formed
the stirrups.  The girth was the last as well as most important object
of his solicitude.  He loosed the buckles on both sides, and then
tightened them, using his knees to effect his purpose.  When drawn to
his liking, the tip of the finger could not have been passed under the
strong leathern band.

No wonder he observed all this caution.  The snapping of a strap, or the
slipping of a buckle, might have hurled him into eternity.

Having satisfied himself that all was right, he gathered up the reins,
and leaped lightly into the saddle.

He first directed his horse at a walk along the cliff, and within a few
feet of its edge.  This was to strengthen the nerves both of himself and
the animal.  Presently the walk became a trot, and then a gentle canter.
Even this was an exhibition fearful to behold.  To those regarding it
from below it was a beautiful but terrible spectacle.

After a while he headed back towards the plain, and then stretching into
a fair gallop--the gait in which he intended to approach the cliff--he
suddenly reined up again, so as to throw his horse nearly on his flanks.
Again he resumed the same gallop and again reined up; and this
manoeuvre he repeated at least a dozen times, now with his horse's head
turned towards the cliffs, and now in the direction of the plain.  Of
course this gallop was far from being the full speed of the animal.
That was not bargained for.  To draw a horse up at race-course speed
within two lengths of himself would be an utter impossibility, even by
sacrificing the life of the animal.  A shot passing through his heart
would not check a racer in so short a space.  A fair gallop was all that
could be expected under the circumstances, and the judges expressed
themselves satisfied with that which was exhibited before them.  Carlos
had put the question.

At length he was seen to turn his horse towards the cliff, and take his
firmest seat in the saddle.  The determined glance of his eyes showed
that the moment had come for the final trial.

A slight touch of the spur set the noble brute in motion, and in another
second he was in full gallop, and heading directly for the cliff!

The gaze of all was fixed with intense earnestness upon that reckless
horseman.  Every heart heaved with emotion; and, beyond their quick
breathing, not an utterance escaped from the spectators.  The only
sounds heard were the hoof-strokes of the horse as they rang back from
the hard turf of the plain.

The suspense was of short duration.  Twenty strides brought horse and
horseman close to the verge, within half-a-dozen lengths.  The rein
still hung loose--Carlos dared not tighten it--a touch he knew would
bring his horse to a halt, and that before he had crossed the line would
only be a failure.

Another leap,--another,--yet another!  Ho! he is inside--Great God!  He
will be over!

Such exclamations rose from the spectators as they saw the horseman
cross the line, still in a gallop; out the next moment a loud cheer
broke from both crowds, and the "vivas" of those in the valley were
answered by similar shouts from those who witnessed the feat from above.

Just as the horse appeared about to spring over the horrid brink, the
reins were observed suddenly to tighten, the fore-hoofs became fixed and
spread, and the hips of the noble animal rested upon the plain.  He was
poised at scarce three feet distance from the edge of the cliff!  While
in this attitude the horseman raised his right hand, lifted his
sombrero, and after waving it round returned it to his head!

A splendid picture from below.  The dark forms of both horse and rider
were perceived as they drew up on the cliff, and the imposing and
graceful attitude was fully developed against the blue background of the
sky.  The arms, the limbs, the oval outlines of the steed, even the very
trappings, could be seen distinctly; and for the short period in which
they were poised and motionless, the spectator might have fancied an
equestrian statue of bronze, its pedestal the pinnacle of the cliff!

This period was but of a moment's duration, but, during its continuance,
the loud "vivas" pealed upon the air.  Those looking from below saw the
horseman suddenly wheel, and disappear beyond the brow-line of the
bluff.

The daring feat was ended and over; and hearts, but a moment ago
throbbing wildly within tender bosoms, now returned to their soft and
regular beating.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

When the cibolero returned to the plain, he was received with a fresh
burst of vivas, and kerchiefs were waved to greet him.  One only caught
his eye,--but that was enough.  He saw not the rest, nor cared to see
them.  That little perfumed piece of cambric, with its lace border, was
to him an ensign of hope--a banner that would have beckoned him on to
achieve deeds of still higher daring.  He saw it held aloft by a small
jewelled hand, and waved in triumph for _him_.  He was happy.

He passed the stand, rode up to the carreta, and, dismounting, kissed
his mother and sister.  He was followed by Don Juan, his backer;--and
there were those who noticed that the eyes of the blonde were not always
upon her brother: there was another on the ground who shared their kind
glances, and that other was the young ranchero.  No one, not even the
dullest, could fail to notice that these kind glances were more than
repaid.  It was an affair of mutual and understood love, beyond a doubt.

Though Don Juan was a rich young farmer, and by courtesy a "Don," yet in
rank he was but a degree above the cibolero--the degree which wealth
confers.  He was not one of the high aristocracy of the place,--about
that he cared little; but he had the character of being a brave,
spirited young fellow; and in time, if he desired it, might mingle with
the "sangre azul."  It was not likely he ever should--at least through
the influence of marriage.  Any one who was witness to the ardent
glances exchanged between his eyes and those of the cibolero's sister,
would prophesy with ease that Don Juan was not going to marry among the
aristocracy.

It was a happy little group around the carreta, and there was feasting,
too,--dulces, and orgeat, and wine from El Taso of the best vintage.
Don Juan was not afraid to spend money, and he had no reason on that
occasion, with fifty onzas of clear gain in his pocket--a fact that by
no means sat easily on the mind of the Comandante.

The latter was observed, with a clouded countenance, strolling around,
occasionally approaching the carreta, and glancing somewhat rudely
towards the group.  His glances were, in fact, directed on Rosita, and
the consciousness of his almost despotic power rendered him careless of
concealing his designs.  His admiration was expressed in such a manner
that many could perceive it.  The poor girl's eyes fell timidly when
they encountered his, and Don Juan, having noticed it, was not without
feelings of anger as well as uneasiness.  He knew the character of the
Comandante, as well as the dangerous power with which he was armed.  O
Liberty! what a glorious thing art thou!  How many hopes are blighted,
how many loves crossed, and hearts crushed, in a land where thou art
not! where the myrmidons of tyranny have power to thwart the purpose of
a life, or arrest the natural flow of its affections!

Several games were yet carried on upon the plain, but they were without
general interest.  The splendid feat of the cibolero had eclipsed all
lesser exhibitions for the time; besides, a number of the head men were
out of humour.  Vizcarra was sad, and Roblado savage--jealous of
Catalina.  The alcalde and his assistant were in a vexed state, as both
had bet heavy sums on the red cock.  Both the padres had lost at
_monte_, and they were no longer in a Christian spirit.  The cura alone
was in good spirits, and ready to back the "pardo" for another main.

The concluding game was at length heralded.  It was to be the "_Correr
el gallo_" (running the cock).  As this is rather an exciting sport, the
"_monte_" tables and other minor amusements were once more put aside;
and all prepared to watch "el gallo."

"Running the cock" is a New Mexican game in all its characteristics.  It
is easily described.  Thus: A cock is suspended by the limbs to a
horizontal branch, at just such a height that a mounted man may lay hold
of his head and neck hanging downward.  The bird is fastened in such a
manner that a smart pluck will detach him from the tree; while, to
render this the more difficult, both head and neck are well covered with
soap.  The horseman must be in full gallop while passing under the
branch; and he who succeeds in plucking down the cock is pursued by all
the others, who endeavour to rob him of the prize.  He has a fixed point
to run round, and his goal is the tree from which he started.  Sometimes
he is over, taken before reaching this, the cock snatched from him,--or,
as not infrequently happens, torn to pieces in the contest.  Should he
succeed in getting back--still retaining the bird entire--he is then
declared victor.  The scene ends by his laying his prize at the feet of
his mistress; and she--usually some pretty poblana--appears that same
evening at the fandango with the feathered trophy under her arm--thus
signifying her appreciation of the compliment paid her, as well as
giving to the _fandangueros_ ocular proof of the fact that some skilful
horseman is her admirer.  It is a cruel sport, for it must be remembered
that the poor cock who undergoes all this plucking and mangling is a
_living bird_!  It is doubtful whether a thought of the _cruelty_ ever
entered the mind of a New Mexican.  If so, it must have been a New
Mexican _woman_; for the humanity of these is in an inverse ratio to
that of their lords.  For the women it may be urged that the sport is a
custom of the country; and what country is without its cruel sports?  Is
it rational or consistent to weep over the sufferings of Chanticleer,
while we ride gaily upon the heels of poor broken Reynard?

There are two modes of the "Correr el gallo."  The first has been
described.  The second only differs from it in the fact that the cock,
instead of being tied to a tree, is buried up to his shoulders in the
earth.  The horsemen, as before, pass in routine--each bending from his
saddle, and striving to pluck the bird out of the ground.  For the rest
the conditions are the same as before.

The first cock was hung to a branch; and the competitors having taken
their places in a line, the game commenced.

Several made the attempt, and actually seized the bird's head, but the
soap foiled them.

The dragoon sergeant was once more a competitor; but whether his colonel
made any further bet upon him is not known.  The Comandante had gambled
enough for that day; and but for a little peculation which he enjoyed
upon the mining "derechos," and other little customs dues, he would have
felt his losses still more severely.  Out of the derechos, however, he
knew he could square himself at the expense of the vice-regal
government.

The sergeant, who, as already stated, had the advantage of a tall figure
and a tall horse, was able to get a full grasp at the neck of the bird;
and being already provided, as was afterwards ascertained, with a
fistful of sand, he took the prize with him, and galloped off.

But there were swifter horses than his on the ground; and before he
could double the turning-post he was overtaken by an active vaquero, and
lost a wing of his bird.  Another wing was plucked from him by a second
pursuer; and he returned to the tree with nothing but a fragment left!
Of course he received neither _vivas_ nor cheers.

Carlos the cibolero took no part in this contest.  He knew that he had
won glory enough for that day--that he had made both friends and
enemies, and he did not desire to swell the list of either.  Some of the
bystanders, however, began to banter him, wishing, no doubt, to see him
again exhibit his fine horsemanship.  He withstood this for some time,
until two more cocks were plucked from the tree--the vaquero already
alluded to carrying one of them clear, and laying it at the feet of his
smiling sweetheart.

A new thought seemed now to have entered the mind of Carlos, and he was
seen riding into the lists, evidently about to take part in the next
race.

"It will be some time before I can be present at another fiesta,"
remarked he to Don Juan.  "Day after to-morrow I start for the plains.
So I'll take all the sport I can out of this one."

An innovation was now introduced in the game.  The bird was buried in
the ground; and its long neck and sharp-pointed bill showed that it was
no cock, but a snow-white "gruya," one of the beautiful species of
herons common in these regions.  Its fine tapering neck was not soiled
with soap, but left in its natural state.  In this case the chances of
failure lay in the fact that, loosely buried as it was, the gruya would
not allow its head to be approached by a hand, but jerked it from side
to side, thus rendering it no easy matter to get hold of it.

The signal being given, away went the string of horsemen!  Carlos was
among the last, but on coming up he saw the white bending neck still
there.  His hand was too quick for the bird, and the next moment it was
dragged from the yielding sand, and flapping its snowy wings over the
withers of his horse.

It required not only speed on the part of Carlos, but great adroitness,
to pass the crowd of horsemen, who now rushed from all points to
intercept him.  Here he dashed forward--there reined up--anon wheeled
round a rider, and passed behind him; and, after a dozen such
manoeuvres, the black horse was seen shooting off towards the
turning-post alone.  This passed, he galloped back to the goal, and
holding up his prize, unstained and intact, received the applause of the
spectators.

There was a good deal of guessing and wondering as to who would be the
recipient of the trophy.  Some girl of his own rank, conjectured the
crowd; some poblana or ranchero's daughter.  The cibolero did not seem
in haste to gratify their curiosity; but, after a few minutes, he
astonished them all, by flinging the gruya into the air, and suffering
it to fly off.  The bird rose majestically upward, and then, drawing in
its long neck, was seen winging its way toward the lower end of the
valley.

It was observed that before parting with the bird Carlos had plucked
from its shoulders the long gossamer-like feathers that distinguish the
heron species.  These he was tying into a plume.

Having accomplished this, he put spurs to his horse, and, galloping up
to the front of the stand, he bent gracefully forward, and deposited the
trophy at the feet of _Catalina de Cruces_!

A murmur of surprise ran through the crowd, and sharp censure followed
fast.  What! a cibolero,--a poor devil, of whom nothing was known,
aspire to the smiles of a rico's daughter?  It was not a compliment.  It
was an insult!  Presumption intolerable!

And these critiques were not confined to the senoras and senoritas.  The
poblanas and rancheros were as bitter as they.  These felt themselves
slighted--passed by--regularly jilted--by one of their own class.
Catalina de Cruces, indeed!

Catalina--her situation was pleasant, yet painful--painful, because
embarrassing.  She smiled, then blushed, uttered a soft "_Gracias,
cavallero_!" yet hesitated a moment whether to take up the trophy.  A
scowling father had started to his feet on one side, on the other a
scowling lover.  The last was Roblado.

"Insolent!" cried he, seizing the plume, and flinging it to the earth;
"insolent!"

Carlos bent down from his saddle, once more laid hold of the plume, and
stuck it under the gold band of his hat.  Then, turning a defiant glance
upon the officer, he said, "Don't lose your temper, Captain Roblado.  A
jealous lover makes but an indifferent husband."  And transferring his
look to Catalina, he added with a smile, and in a changed tone,
"Gracias, senorita!"

As he said this he doffed his sombrero, and, waving it gracefully,
turned his horse and rode off.

Roblado half drew his sword, and his loud "Carrajo!" along with the
muttered imprecations of Don Ambrosio, reached the ears of the cibolero.
But the captain was far from brave, with all his swagger; and seeing
the long _machete_ of the horseman strapped over his hips, he vented his
spite in threats only, and suffered Carlos to depart.

The incident had created no small excitement, and a good deal of angry
feeling.  The cibolero had roused the indignation of the aristocracy,
and the jealousy and envy of the democracy; so that, after all his
brilliant performances, he was likely to leave the field anything but a
favourite.  The wild words of his strange old mother had been widely
reported, and national hatred was aroused, so that his skill called
forth envy instead of admiration.  An angel indeed, should he have been
to have won friendship there--he an Americano--a "heretico"--for in this
far corner of the earth fanaticism was as fierce as in the Seven-hilled
City itself during the gloomiest days of the Inquisition!

Mayhap it was as well for Carlos that the sports were now ended, and the
fiesta about to close.

In a few minutes the company began to move off.  The mules, oxen, and
asses, were yoked to the carretas--the rancheros and rancheras climbed
inside the deep boxes; and then, what with the cracking of quirts, the
shouts of drivers, and the hideous screaming of the ungreased axles, a
concert of sounds arose that would have astonished any human being,
except a born native of the soil.

In half-an-hour the ground was clear, and the lean coyote might be seen
skulking over the spot in search of a morsel for his hungry maw.



CHAPTER NINE.

Though the field-sports were over, the fiesta of San Juan was not yet
ended.  There were still many sights to be seen before the crowd
scattered to their homes.  There was to be another turn at the church--
another sale of "indultos," beads, and relics,--another sprinkling of
sacred water, in order that the coffers of the padres might be
replenished toward a fresh bout at the _monte_ table.  Then there was an
evening procession of the Saint of the day (John), whose image, set upon
a platform, was carried about the town, until the five or six fellows
who bore the load were seen to perspire freely under its weight.

The Saint himself was a curiosity.  A large wax and plaster doll,
dressed in faded silk that had once been yellow, and stuck all over with
feathers and tinsel.  A Catholic image Indianised, for the Mexican
divinities were as much Indian as Roman.  He appeared bored of the
business, as, the joinings between head and neck having partially given
way, the former drooped over and nodded to the crowd as the image was
moved along.  This nodding, however, which would have been laughed at as
supremely ridiculous in any other than a priest-ridden country, was here
regarded in a different light.  The padres did not fail to put their
interpretation upon it, pointing it out to their devout followers as a
mark of condescension on the part of the Saint, who, in thus bowing to
the crowd, was expressing his approbation of their proceedings.  It was,
in fact, a regular miracle.  So alleged both padres and cura, and who
was there to contradict them?  It would have been a dangerous matter to
have said nay.  In San Ildefonso no man dared to disbelieve the word of
the Church.  The miracle worked well.  The religious enthusiasm boiled
up; and when Saint John was returned to his niche, and the little
"cofre" placed in front of him, many a "peseta", "real," and
"cuartillo," were dropped in, which would otherwise have been deposited
that night in the _monte_ bank.  Nodding Saints and "winking Madonnas"
are by no means a novel contrivance of the Holy Church.  The padres of
its Mexican branch have had their wonderful saints too; and even in the
almost _terra ignota_ of New Mexico can be found a few of them that have
performed as _smart_ miracles as any recorded in the whole jugglery of
the race.

A pyrotechnic display followed--and no mean exhibition of the sort
neither--for in this "art" the New Mexicans are adepts.  A fondness for
"fireworks" is a singular but sure characteristic of a declining nation.

Give me the statistics of pyrotechnic powder burnt by a people, and I
shall tell you the standard measure of their souls and bodies.  If the
figure be a maximum, then the physical and moral measure will be the
minimum, for the ratio is inverse.

I stood in the Place de Concorde, and saw a whole nation--its rich and
its poor--gazing on one of these pitiful spectacles, got up for the
purpose of duping them into contentment.  It was the price paid them for
parting with their liberty, as a child parts with a valuable gem for a
few sugar-plums.  They were gazing with a delight that seemed
enthusiasm!  I looked upon scrubby, stunted forms, a foot shorter than
were their ancestors.  I looked upon eyes that gleamed with demoralised
thought.

These were the representatives of a once great people, and who still
deem themselves the first of mankind.  I felt sure that this was an
illusion.  The pyro-spectacle and its reception convinced me that I saw
before me a people who had passed the culminating point of their
greatness, and were now gliding rapidly down the declining slope that
leads to annihilation and nothingness.

After the fireworks came the "fandango."  There we meet the same faces,
without much alteration in the costumes.  The senoras and senoritas
alone have doffed their morning dresses, and here and there a pretty
poblana has changed her coarse woollen "nagua" for a gay flounced
muslin.

The ball was held in the large saloon of the "Casa de Cabildo," which
occupied one side of the "Plaza."  On this festival day there was no
exclusiveness.  In the frontier towns of Mexico not much at any time,
for, notwithstanding the distinctions of class, and the domineering
tyranny of the government authorities, in matters of mere amusement
there is a sort of democratic equality, a mingling of high and low, that
in other countries is rare.  English, and even American travellers, have
observed this with astonishment.

All were admitted to the "Salon de baile" who chose to pay for it; and
alongside the rico in fine broad-cloth you might see the ranchero in his
leathern jacket and velveteen calzoneros; while the daughter of the rich
comerciante danced in the same set with the "aldeana," whose time was
taken up in kneading tortillas or weaving rebosos!

The Comandante with Roblado and the lieutenant figured at the fandango
in full uniform.  The alcalde was there with his gold-headed cane and
tassel; the _cura_ in his shovel hat; the padres in their swinging
robes; and all the "familias principales" of the place.

There was the rich comerciante, Don Jose Rincon, with his fat wife and
four fat sleepy-looking daughters--there, too, the wife and family of
the alcalde--there the Echevarrias, with their brother the "beau" in
full Paris costume, with dress coat and crush hat--the only one to be
seen in the saloon.  There, too, the rich hacendado, Senor Gomez del
Monte, with his lean wife and several rather lean daughters--differing
in that respect from the hundreds of kine that roam over the pastures of
his "ganada."  And there, too, observed of all, was the lovely Catalina
de Graces, the daughter of the wealthy miner Don Ambrosio, who himself
is by her side, keeping a watchful eye upon her.

Besides these grand people there were employes of the mines of less
note, clerks of the comerciantes, young farmers of the valley,
gambucinos, vaqueros, ciboleros, and even "_leperos_" of the town,
shrouded in their cheap serapes.  A motley throng was the fandango.

The music consisted of a bandolon, a harp, and fiddle, and the dances
were the waltz, the _bolero_, and the _coona_.  It is but just to say
that finer dancing could not have been witnessed in the saloons of
Paris.  Even the peon, in his leathern spencer and calzoneros, moved as
gracefully as a professor of the art; and the poblanas, in their short
skirts and gay coloured slippers, swept over the floor like so many
coryphees of the ballet.

Roblado, as usual, was pressing his attentions on Catalina, and danced
almost every set with her; but her eye wandered from his gold epaulettes
and seemed to search the room for some other object.  She was evidently
indifferent to the remarks of her partner, and tired of his company.

Vizcarra's eyes were also in search of some one that did not appear to
be present, for the Comandante strolled to and fro, peering into every
group and corner with a dissatisfied look.

If it was the fair blonde he was looking for, he would be unsuccessful.
She was not there.  Rosita and her mother had returned home after the
exhibition of the fireworks.  Their house was far down the valley, and
they had gone to it, accompanied by Carlos and the young ranchero.
These, however, had returned to be present at the fandango.  It was late
before they made their appearance, the road having detained them.  This
was why the eye of Catalina wandered.  Unlike Vizcarra, however, she was
not to meet with disappointment.

While the dance was going on two young men entered the saloon, and soon
mingled with the company.  One of them was the young ranchero, the other
was Carlos.  The latter might easily have been distinguished by the
heron-plume that waved over his black sombrero.

The eye of Catalina was no longer restless.  It was now directed upon an
object, though its glances were not fixed, but quick and stolen--stolen,
because of the observation of an angry father and a jealous lover.

Carlos assumed indifference, though his heart was burning.  What would
he not have given to have danced with her?  But he knew the situation
too well.  He knew that the offer of such a thing would lead to a scene.
He dared not propose it.

At times he fancied that she had ceased to regard him--that she even
listened with interest to Roblado--to the beau Echevarria--to others.
This was but Catalina's fine acting.  It was meant for other eyes than
those of Carlos, but he knew not that, and became piqued.

He grew restless, and danced.  He chose for his partner a very pretty
"aldeana," Inez Gonzales by name, who was delighted to dance with him.
Catalina saw this, and became jealous in turn.

This play continued for a length of time, but Carlos at length grew
tired of his partner, and sat down upon the _banqueta_ alone.  His eyes
followed the movements of Catalina.  He saw that hers were bent upon him
with glances of love,--love that had been avowed in words,--yes, had
already been plighted upon oath.  Why should they suspect each other?

The confidence of both hearts was restored; and now the excitement of
the dance, and the less zealous guardianship of Don Ambrosio, half drunk
with wine, gave confidence to their eyes, and they gazed more boldly and
frequently at one another.

The ring of dancers whirling round the room passed close to where Carlos
sat.  It was a waltz.  Catalina was waltzing with the beau Echevarria.
At each circle her face was towards Carlos, and then their eyes met.  In
these transient but oft-recurring glances the eyes of a Spanish maid
will speak volumes, and Carlos was reading in those of Catalina a
pleasant tale.  As she came round the room for the third time, he
noticed something held between her fingers, which rested over the
shoulder of her partner.  It was a sprig with leaves of a dark greenish
hue.  When passing close to him, the sprig, dexterously detached, fell
upon his knees, while he could just bear, uttered in a soft whisper, the
word--"_Tuya_!"

Carlos caught the sprig, which was a branch of "tuya," or cedar.  He
well understood its significance; and after pressing it to his lips, he
passed it through the button-hole of his embroidered "jaqueta."  As
Catalina came round again, the glances exchanged between them were those
of mutual and confiding love.

The night wore on--Don Ambrosio at length became sleepy, and carried off
his daughter, escorted by Roblado.

Soon after most of the ricos and fashionables left the saloon, but some
tireless votaries of Terpsichore still lingered until the rosy Aurora
peeped through the "rejas" of the Casa de Cabildo.



CHAPTER TEN.

The "Llano Estacado," or "Staked Plain" of the hunters, is one of the
most singular formations of the Great American Prairie.  It is a
table-land, or "steppe," rising above the regions around it to a height
of nearly one thousand feet, and of an oblong or leg-of-mutton form,
trending from north to south.

It is four hundred miles in length, and at its widest part between two
and three hundred.  Its superficial area is about equal to the island of
Ireland.  Its surface aspect differs considerably from the rest of
prairie-land, nor is it of uniform appearance in every part.  Its
northern division consists of an arid steppe, sometimes treeless, for an
extent of fifty miles, and sometimes having a stunted covering of
mezquite (_acacia_), of which there are two distinct species.  This
steppe is in several places rent by chasms a thousand feet in depth, and
walled in on both sides by rugged impassable precipices.  Vast masses of
shapeless rocks lie along the beds of these great clefts, and pools of
water appear at long intervals, while stunted cedars grow among the
rocks, or cling from the seams of the cliffs.

Such chasms, called "canons," can only be crossed, or even entered, at
certain points; and these passes are frequently a score of miles distant
from each other.

On the upper plain the surface is often a dead level for a hundred
miles, and as firm as a macadamised road.  There are spots covered with
a turf of grass of the varieties known as gramma, buffalo, and mezquite;
and sometimes the traveller encounters a region where shallow ponds of
different sizes stud the plain--a few being permanent, and surrounded by
sedge.  Most of these ponds are more or less brackish, some sulphurous,
and others perfectly salt.  After heavy rains such aqueous deposits are
more numerous, and their waters sweeter; but rain seems to fall by
accident over this desolate region, and after long spells of drought the
greater number of these ponds disappear altogether.

Towards the southern end of the Llano Estacado the surface exhibits a
very singular phenomenon--a belt of sand-hills, nearly twenty miles in
breadth and full fifty in length, stretching north and south upon the
plain.  These hills are of pure white sand, thrown up in ridges, and
sometimes in cones, to the height of a hundred feet, and without tree,
bush, or shrub, to break their soft outlines, or the uniformity of their
colour.  But the greatest anomaly of this geological puzzle is, that
water-ponds are found in their very midst--even among their highest
ridges--and this water not occasional, as from rains, but lying in
"lagunas," with reeds, rushes, and _nymphae_ growing in them, to attest
that the water is permanent!  The very last place where water might be
expected to make a lodgment.

Such formations of drift-sand are common upon the shores of the Mexican
Gulf, as well as on European coasts, and there their existence is easily
explained; but here, in the very heart of a continent, it cannot be
regarded as less than a singular phenomenon.

This sand-belt is passable at one or two points, but horses sink to the
knees at every step, and but for the water it would be a perilous
experiment to cross it.

Where is the Llano Estacado?  Unroll your map of North America.  You
will perceive a large river called the Canadian rising in the Rocky
Mountains, and running, first southerly, and then east, until it becomes
part of the Arkansas.  As this river bends eastwardly, it brushes the
northern end of the Llano Estacado, whose bluffs sometimes approach
close to its banks, and at other times are seen far off, resembling a
range of mountains--for which they have been frequently mistaken by
travellers.

The boundary of the west side of the "Staked Plain" is more definite.
Near the head-waters of the Canadian another large river has its source.
This the Pecos.  Its course, you will observe, is nearly south, but
your map is not correct, as for several hundred miles the Pecos runs
within a few degrees of east.  It afterwards takes a southerly
direction, before it reaches its embouchure in the Rio Grande.  Now the
Pecos washes the whole western base of the Llano Estacado; and it is
this very plain, elevated as it is, that turns the Pecos into its
southerly course, instead of leaving it to flow eastward, like all the
other prairie-streams that head in the Rocky Mountains.

The eastern boundary of the Llano Estacado is not so definitely marked,
but a line of some three hundred miles from the Pecos, and cutting the
head-waters of the Wichita, the Louisiana Bed, the Brazos, and Colorado,
will give some idea of its outline.  These rivers, and their numerous
tributaries, all head in the eastern "ceja" (brow) of the Staked Plain,
which is cut and channelled by their streams into tracts of the most
rugged and fantastic forms.

At the south the Llano Estacado tapers to a point, declining into the
mezquite plains and valleys of numerous small streams that debouch into
the Lower Rio Grande.

This singular tract is without one fixed dweller; even the Indian never
makes abode upon it beyond the few hours necessary to rest from his
journey, and there are parts where he--inured as he is to hunger and
thirst--dare not venture to cross it.  So perilous is the "Jornada," or
crossing of the Llano Estacado, that throughout all its length of four
hundred miles there are only two places where travellers can effect it
in safety!  The danger springs from the want of water, for there are
spots of grass in abundance; but even on the well-known routes there
are, at certain seasons, stretches of sixty and eighty miles where not a
drop of water is to be procured!

In earlier times one of these routes was known as the "Spanish Trail,"
from Santa Fe to San Antonio de Bexar, of Texas; and lest travellers
should lose their way, several points were marked with "palos," or
stakes.  Hence the name it has received.

The Llano Estacado is now rarely travelled, except by the ciboleros, or
Mexican buffalo-hunters, and "Comancheros," or Indian traders.  Parties
of these cross it from the settlements of New Mexico, for the purpose of
hunting the buffalo, and trafficking with the Indian tribes that roam
over the plains to the east.  Neither the hunt nor the traffic is of any
great importance, but it satisfies a singular race of men, whom chance
or inclination has led to the adopting it as a means of subsistence.

These men are to the Mexican frontier pretty much what the hunter and
backwoodsman are upon the borders of the Anglo-American settlements.
They are, however, in many respects different from the latter--in arms
and equipments, modes of hunting, and otherwise.  The outfit of a
cibolero, who is usually also a _coureur de bois_, is very simple.  For
hunting, he is mounted on a tolerable--sometimes a fine--horse and armed
with a bow and arrows, a hunting-knife, and a long lance.  Of fire-arms
he knows and cares nothing--though there are exceptional cases.  A lazo
is an important part of his equipment.  For trading, his stock of goods
is very limited--often not costing him twenty dollars!  A few bags of
coarse bread (an article of food which the prairie Indians are fond of),
a sack of "pinole," some baubles for Indian ornament, some coarse
serapes, and pieces of high-coloured woollen stuffs, woven at home:
these constitute his "invoice."  Hardware goods he does not furnish to
any great extent.  These stand him too high in his own market, as they
reach it only after long carriage and scandalous imposts.  Fire-arms he
has nothing to do with: such prairie Indians as use these are furnished
from the eastern side; but many Spanish pieces--fusils and escopettes--
have got into the hands of the Comanches through their forays upon the
Mexican towns of the south.

In return for his outlay and perilous journey, the cibolero carries back
dried buffalo-flesh and hides--some the produce of his own hunting, some
procured by barter from the Indians.

Horses, mules, and asses, are also articles of exchange.  Of these the
prairie Indians possess vast herds--some individuals owning hundreds;
and most of them with Mexican brands!  In other words, they have been
stolen from the towns of the _Lower_ Rio Grande, to be sold to the towns
of the _Upper_ Rio Grande, and the trade is deemed perfectly
legitimate,--at least, there is no help for it as the case stands.

The cibolero goes forth on the plains with a rare escort.  Sometimes a
large number of these men, taking their wives and families with them,
travel together just like a tribe of wild Indians.  Generally, however,
one or two leaders, with their servants and equipage, form the
expedition.  They experience less molestation from the savages than
ordinary travellers.  The Comanches and other tribes know their object,
and rather encourage them to come amongst them.  Notwithstanding, they
are often cheated and ill-used by these double-faced dealers.  Their
mode of transport is the pack-mule, and the "carreta" drawn by mules or
oxen.  The carreta is of itself a picture of primitive locomotion.  A
pair of block-wheels, cut out of a cotton-wood tree, are joined by a
stout wooden axle.  The wheels usually approach nearer to the oval, or
square, than the circular form.  A long tongue leads out from the
axle-tree, and upon top of this a square, deep, box-like body is placed.
To this two or more pairs of oxen are attached in the most simple
manner--by lashing a cross-piece of wood to their horns which has
already been made fast to the tongue.  The animals have neither yoke nor
harness, and the forward push of the head is the motive power by which
the carreta is propelled.  Once in motion, the noise of the wooden axle
is such as to defy description.  The cries of a whole family, with
children of all sizes, in bitter agony, can alone represent the concert
of terrible sounds; and we must go to South Mexico to find its horrid
equal in a troop of howling monkeys.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

About a week after the fiesta of Saint John, a small party of ciboleros
was seen crossing the Pecos, at the ford of the "Bosque Redondo."  The
party was only five in number, and consisted of a white man, a
half-blood, and three pure-bred Indians, having with them a small
_atajo_ of pack-mules, and three ox-team carretas.  The crouching trot
of the Indians, as well as their tilma dresses and sandalled feet,
showed that they were "Indios mansos."  They were, in fact, the hired
_peons_ of Carlos the cibolero--the white man, and chief of the party.

The half-blood--Antonio by name--was "arriero" of the mule-train, while
the three Indians drove the ox-teams, guiding them across the ford with
their long goads.  Carlos himself was mounted upon his fine black horse,
and, muffled in a strong serape, rode in front to pilot the way.  His
beautiful manga had been left behind, partly to save it from the rough
wear of such an expedition, and also that it might not excite the
cupidity of the prairie Indians, who, for such a brilliant mantle as it
was, would not hesitate to take his scalp.  Besides the manga, the
embroidered jacket, the scarlet scarf, and velveteen calzoneros, had all
been put off, and others of a coarser kind were now worn in their place.

This was an important expedition for Carlos.  He carried with him the
largest freight he had ever taken upon the prairies.  Besides the three
carretas with four oxen each, the atajo consisted of five pack-mules,
all loaded with merchandise--the carretas with bread, pinole, Spanish
beans, Chile peppers; and the packs were made up of serape blankets,
coarse woollen cloth, and a few showy trinkets, as also some Spanish
knives, with their pointed triangular blades.  It was his bold luck on
the day of the fiesta that had enabled him to provide such a stock.  In
addition to his own original onza and the two he had won, the young
ranchero, Don Juan, had insisted upon his accepting the loan of five
others towards an outfit for this expedition.

The little troop, having safely forded the Pecos, headed towards the
"ceja" of the Llano Estacado, that was not far distant from the crossing
of Bosque Redondo.  A sloping ravine brought them to the top of the
"mesa," where a firm level road lay before them--a smooth plain without
break or bush to guide them on their course.

But the cibolero needed no guide.  No man knew the Staked Plain better
than he; and, setting his horse's head in a direction a little south of
east, the train moved on.  He was striking for one of the head branches
of the Red River of Louisiana, where he had heard that for several
seasons past the buffalo had appeared in great numbers.  It was a new
route for him--as most of his former expeditions had been made to the
upper forks of the Texan rivers Brazos had Colorado.  But the plains
around these rivers were at this time in undisputed possession of the
powerful tribe of Comanches, and their allies, the Kiawas, Lipans, and
Tonkewas.  Hence, these Indians, uninterrupted in their pursuit of the
buffalo, had rendered the latter wild and difficult of approach, and had
also thinned their numbers.  On the waters of the Red River the case was
different.  This was hostile ground.  The Wacoes, Panes, Osages, and
bands from the Cherokee, Kickapoo, and other nations to the east,
occasionally hunted there, and sanguinary conflicts occurred among them;
so that one party or another often lost their season's hunt by the
necessity of keeping out of each other's range; and the game was thus
left undisturbed.  It is a well-known fact that in a neutral or "hostile
ground" the buffalo, as well as other game, are found in greatest
abundance, and are there more easily approached than elsewhere.

With a knowledge of these facts, Carlos the cibolero had determined to
risk an expedition to the Red River, whose head-waters have their source
in the eastern "ceja" of the Llano Estacado, and _not_ in the Rocky
Mountains as laid down upon maps.

Carlos was well armed for hunting the buffalo--so was the half-blood
Antonio--and two of the three peons were also experienced hunters.
Their arms consisted of the bow and lance, both weapons being preferable
to fire-arms for buffalo-hunting.  In one of the carretas, however,
might be seen a weapon of another kind--a long brown American rifle.
This Carlos kept for other and higher game, and he well knew how to use
it.  But how came such a weapon into the hands of a Mexican cibolero?
Remember Carlos was not of Mexican origin.  The weapon was a family
relic.  It had been his father's.

We shall not follow Carlos and his "caravan" through all the details of
their weary "journeyings" across the desert plain.  At one place they
made a "Jornada" of seventy miles without water.  But the experienced
Carlos knew how to accomplish this without the loss of a single animal.

He travelled thus.  Having given his cattle as much as they would drink
at the last watering-place, he started in the afternoon, and travelled
until near daybreak.  Then a halt of two hours was made, so that the
animals should graze while the dew was still on the grass.  Another long
march followed, continuing until noon, then a rest of three or four
hours brought the cool evening, when a fresh spell of marching brought
the "Jornada" to its end, far on in the following night.  Such is the
mode of travelling still practised on the desert steppes of Chihuahua,
Sonora, and North Mexico.

After several days' travelling the cibolero and his party descended from
the high "mesa," and, passing down its eastern slope, arrived on a
tributary of the Red River.  Here the scenery assumed a new aspect--the
aspect of the "rolling" prairie.  Gentle declivities, with soft rounded
tops declining into smooth verdant vales, along which meandered streams
of clear and sparkling water.  Here and there along the banks stood
groves of trees, such as the evergreen live-oak, the beautiful "pecan"
with its oblong edible nuts, the "overcup" with its odd-looking acorns,
the hackberry with its nettle-shaped leaves and sweet fruits, and the
silvery cotton-wood.  Along the swells could be seen large trees
standing apart, and at almost equal distances, as though planted for an
orchard.  Their full leafy tops gave them a fine appearance, and their
light pinnate leaves, with the long brown legumes hanging from their
branches, told they were the famous "mezquite" trees--the American
acacia.  The red mulberry could be seen in the creek bottoms, and here
and there the beautiful wild-china-tree with its pretty lilac flowers.
The whole surface both of hill and valley was clad in a rich mantle of
short _buffalo_ grass, which gave it the aspect of a meadow lately mown,
and springing into fresh verdure.  It was a lovely landscape, and no
wonder the wild bulls of the prairies chose it for their favourite
range.

The cibolero had not travelled far through this favoured region until he
came upon the buffalo sign--"roads", "wallows", and "bois de vache;" and
next morning he found himself in the midst of vast herds, roaming about
like tame cattle, and browsing at their leisure.  So little shy were
they, they scarce deigned to make off at his approach!

Of course he had reached the end of his journey.  This was his great
stock-farm.  These were his own cattle--as much his as any one else's;
and he had nothing more to do but set to killing and curing.

As to his trade with the Indians, that would take place whenever he
should chance to fall in with a party--which he would be certain to do
in the course of the season.

Like all men of the prairie, rude trappers as well as Indians, Carlos
had an eye for the picturesque, and therefore chose a beautiful spot for
his camp.  It was a grassy bottom, through which ran a clear "arroyo" of
sweet water, shaded by pecan, mulberry, and wild-china-trees, and under
the shadow of a mulberry grove his carretas were halted and his tent was
pitched.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

Carlos had commenced his hunt, and was making rapid progress.  In the
first two days he had slaughtered no less than twenty buffaloes, and had
them all carried to camp.  He and Antonio followed the buffalo and shot
them down, while two of the peons skinned the animals, cut up the meat,
and packed it to camp.  There, under the hands of the third, it
underwent the further process of being "jerked," that is, cut into thin
slices and dried in the sun.

The hunt promised to be profitable.  Carlos would no doubt obtain as
much "tasajo" as he could carry home, besides a large supply of hides,
both of which found ready sale in the towns of New Mexico.

On the third day, however, the hunters noticed a change in the behaviour
of the buffalo.  They had suddenly grown wild and wary.  Now and then
vast gangs passed them, running at full speed, as if terrified and
pursued!  It was not Carlos and his companion that had so frighted them.
What then had set them a-running?

Carlos conjectured that some Indian tribe was in the neighbourhood
engaged in hunting them.

His conjecture proved correct.  On ascending a ridge which gave him a
view of a beautiful valley beyond, his eye rested upon an Indian
encampment.

It consisted of about fifty lodges, standing like tents along the edge
of the valley, and fronting towards the stream.  They were of a conical
form, constructed of a framework of poles set in a circle, drawn
together at their tops, and then covered with skins of the buffalo.

"Waco lodges!" said the cibolero, the moment his practised eye fell upon
them.

"Master," inquired Antonio, "how do you tell that?"  Antonio's
experience fell far short of that of his master, who from childhood had
spent his life on the prairies.

"How!" replied Carlos, "by the lodges themselves."

"I should have taken it for a Comanche camp," said the half-blood.  "I
have seen just such lodges among the `Buffalo-eaters.'"

"Not so, Anton," rejoined his master.  "In the Comanche lodge the poles
meet at the top, and are covered over with the skins, leaving no outlet
for smoke.  You observe it is not so with these.  They are lodges of the
Wacoes, who, it is true, are allies of the Comanches."

Such was in reality the fact.  The poles, though bent so as to approach
each other at the top, did not quite meet, and an open hole remained for
the passage of smoke.  The lodge, therefore, was not a perfect cone, but
the frustum of one; and in this it differed from the lodge of the
Comanches.

"The Wacoes are not hostile," remarked the cibolero.  I think we have
nothing to fear from them.  No doubt they will trade with us.  But where
are they?  This question was drawn forth by the cibolero observing that
not a creature was to be seen about the lodges,--neither man, woman,
child, nor animal!  And yet it could not be a deserted camp.  Indians
would not abandon such lodges as these--at least they would not leave
behind the fine robes that covered them!  No, the owners must be near:
no doubt, among the neighbouring hills, in pursuit of the buffalo.

The cibolero guessed aright.  As he and his companion stood looking down
upon the encampment, a loud shouting reached their ears, and the next
moment a body of several hundred horsemen was seen approaching over a
swell of the prairie.  They were riding slowly, but their panting
foaming horses showed that they had just left off harder work.
Presently another band, still more numerous, appeared in the rear.
These were horses and mules laden with huge brown masses, the
buffalo-meat packed up in the shaggy hides.  This train was conducted by
the women and boys, and followed by troops of dogs and screaming
children.

As they came toward the encampment from an opposite direction, Carlos
and his companion were not for a while seen.

The Indians, however, had not been long among the lodges before the
quick eye of one caught sight of their two heads above the ridge.  A
warning cry was uttered, and in a moment every one of the dismounted
hunters was back in his saddle and ready for action.  One or two
galloped off towards the meat-train, which had not yet come into camp,
while others rode to and fro, exhibiting symptoms of alarm.

No doubt they were under apprehensions that the Panes, their mortal
foes, had stolen a march upon them.

Carlos soon relieved them from this apprehension.  Spurring his horse to
the crest of the ridge, he drew up in full view of the Indians.  A few
signs, which he well knew how to make, and the word "amigo!" shouted at
the top of his voice, restored their confidence; then a young fellow now
rode out in front, and advanced up the hill.  When sufficiently near to
be heard, he halted; and a conversation, partly by signs, and partly by
means of a little Spanish, enabled him and Carlos to understand each
other.  The Indian then galloped back, and, after a short interval,
returned again, and invited the cibolero and his companion to the
encampment.

Carlos of course accepted the courtesy, and a few minutes after, he and
Antonio were eating fresh buffalo-beef, and chatting in perfect amity
with their new hosts.

The chief, a fine-looking man, and evidently possessing full authority,
became particularly friendly with Carlos, and was much pleased at
hearing that the latter had a stock of goods.  He promised to visit his
camp next morning and allow his tribe to trade.  As the cibolero had
conjectured, they were Waco Indians,--a noble race, one of the noblest
of the prairie tribes.

Carlos returned to his camp in high spirits.  He would now have his
goods exchanged for mules,--so the chief promised,--and these were the
main objects of his expedition.

In the morning, according to appointment, the Indians arrived, chief and
all; and the little valley where the cibolero had encamped was filled
with men, women, and children.  The packs were opened, the goods were
set forth, and the whole day was spent in continuous trading.  The
cibolero found his customers perfectly honest; and when night came, and
they took their departure, not a single item of Carlos' stock remained
on his hands.  In its place, however, a handsome _mulada_ of no less
than thirty mules was seen picketed in the bottom of the little valley.
These were now the property of Carlos the cibolero.  Not a bad outlay of
his eight onzas!

Not only would they yield well on his return, but it was his intention
that each of them should carry back its full load of buffalo-hides, or
"tasajo."

It would be a successful expedition, indeed; and dreams of future
wealth, with the hope of being some day in a condition to advance a
legitimate claim to the hand of the fair Catalina, were already passing
through the mind of Carlos.

Once a "rico," reflected he, even Don Ambrosio might sanction his suit.
On that night soft was the slumber and pleasant the dreams of Carlos the
cibolero.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Next day he followed his hunting with increased ardour.  He was now
provided with the means of transport to any amount.  There was no fear
he should have to leave either his robes or tasajo behind.  With his own
mules, he had now thirty-five; and that number, with the three carretas,
would carry a splendid freight--of the value of hundreds of dollars.

He had already obtained some dressed robes from the Indians.  For these
he had parted with everything for which an Indian would trade.  Even the
buttons from off his jacket and those of his men, the bullion bands and
shining tags of their sombreros--everything about them that glittered!

Their arms of course not.  These the Wacoes did not want.  They had
similar ones themselves, and could manufacture them at will.  They would
have purchased the long brown rifle; but that was a souvenir Carlos
would not have parted with for a score of mules.

For the next day or two the cibolero continued his hunting.  He found
the buffalo grow every hour more excited and wild.  He noticed, too,
that the "running" gangs came from the north, while the Wacoes were
hunting to the southward of his camp!  It could not be the latter that
were disturbing them.  Who then?

On the third night after his trade with the Indians, Carlos had retired
to rest with his people.  Antonio kept watch until midnight, at which
hour he was to be relieved by one of the peons.

Antonio had grown very sleepy.  His hard riding after the buffalo had
wearied him; and he was doing his best to keep awake for the last
half-hour of his vigil, when a snort reached his ears from the direction
of the _mulada_.

This brought him to himself.  He placed his ear to the ground and
listened.  Another snort louder than the first came from the _mulada_--
another--and another--quick in succession!

"What can it mean?  Coyotes? or, perhaps, a bear?  I shall wake my
master," said Antonio to himself.

Stealing gently to the side of Carlos, the half-blood shook the sleeper
by the arm.  A slight shake was enough, for in an instant the cibolero
was upon his feet and handling his rifle.  He always resorted to this
weapon in cases of danger, such as a hostile attack by Indians, using
his bow only in the chase.

After a word or two had passed between Carlos and Antonio the three
peons were awaked, and all five stood to their arms.  The little party
remained in the midst of the carretas, which had been drawn up so as to
form a small triangular corral.  The high boxes of these would be an
excellent protection against arrows; and, as there was no fire in the
camp to make a light, they could not be seen from without.  The camp,
moreover, was shadowed by the thick foliage of the mulberries, which
rendered it still more obscure; while its occupants commanded a view of
the prairie in front.  But for the wood copses which stood at intervals,
they could have seen the whole ground both up and down the valley and
along its sides.  These copses, however, might have concealed any number
of foes.

The hunters remained silent, listening intently.  At one time they
fancied they could see a dark form crouching along the ground in the
direction of the _mulada_, that was picketed not a hundred yards off.
The light, however, was so uncertain, not one of the five could be sure
of this.  Whatever it was, it moved very slowly, for it appeared to
remain near the same spot.

Carlos at length set himself to observe it more closely.  He stole out
from the corral, and, followed by Antonio, crawled along the ground.
When the two had got nearer the dark object, it was distinctly seen to
move.

"There _is_ something!" whispered the cibolero.

At that moment the mules again snorted, and one or two of them struck
the ground with their hoofs, as if startled.

"It must be a bear, I fancy," continued Carlos.  "It has the appearance
of one.  It will stampede the animals--a shot will be less likely to do
so."

As he said this he raised his rifle, and, taking aim as well as the
darkness would allow him, pulled trigger and fired.

It seemed as if the shot had invoked all the demons of the infernal
regions.  A hundred voices burst forth in one simultaneous yell, the
hoofs of a hundred horses rang upon the turf, the _mulada_ got into
motion, the mules squealing and plunging violently, and the next moment
every one of them had broken their lariats, and were running at a
furious gallop out of the valley!  A dark band of yelling horsemen was
seen closing in after and driving them off; and, before Carlos could
recover from his surprise, both mules and Indians had disappeared out of
sight and hearing!

Not a single one remained of the whole _mulada_.  The ground upon which
they had been picketed was swept perfectly clear!

"An estampeda!" said the cibolero, in a husky voice; "my poor mules--all
gone--_every_ one of them!  A curse upon Indian duplicity!"

Carlos had not the slightest doubt but that the marauders were the
Wacoes--the very same from whom he had purchased the mules.  He knew
that such an occurrence was by no means rare--that oftentimes the
traders are robbed in this way; and not unusual is it for them to
purchase a second time the very animals thus carried off, and from the
same Indians who have stolen them!

"A curse upon Indian duplicity!" he repeated with indignant emphasis.
"No wonder they were so free and generous in their barter!  It was but a
plot on the part of the cowardly thieves to take from me my whole cargo,
without daring to do so openly.  _Carajo_!  I am lost!"

This last phrase was uttered in a tone that partook equally of anger and
grief.

The cibolero was certainly placed in an unpleasant situation.  All his
hopes--lately running so high--were crushed in a single moment.  His
whole property taken from him--the object of his enterprise lost--his
long, perilous, and painful journeyings made for nothing.  He should
return empty-handed, poorer than when he set out--for his own five
pack-mules were gone among the rest.  The oxen, and his faithful steed,
tied to the carretas, alone remained.  These would scarce serve to carry
provision for himself and party on their journey home; no cargo--not a
bale of hides--not a "bulta" of meat more than would be required for
their own food!

These reflections all passed through the mind of the cibolero in the
space of a few moments, as he stood gazing in the direction in which the
marauders had gone.  He made no attempt to follow--that would have been
worse than useless.  On his splendid horse he might have overtaken
them--only to die on the points of their lances!

"A curse upon Indian duplicity!" he once more repeated; and then, rising
to his feet, walked back to the corral, and gave orders for the oxen to
be drawn close up and firmly fastened to the carretas.  Another surprise
might be attempted by some lingering party of the savages; and, as it
would be unsafe to go to sleep, the cibolero and his four companions
remained awake and on the alert for the remainder of the night.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

That was a _noche triste_ to Carlos--a night of painful reflections.
Bereft of his property--in the midst of hostile Indians, who might
change their minds, return, and massacre him and his party--many hundred
miles from home, or from any settlement of whites--a wide desert to be
traversed--the further discouragement that there was no object for his
going home, now that he was stripped of all his trading-stock--perhaps
to be laughed at on his return--no prospect of satisfaction or
indemnity, for he well knew that his government would send out no
expedition to revenge so humble an individual as he was--he knew, in
fact, that no expedition of Spanish soldiery could penetrate to the
place, even if they had the will; but to fancy Vizcarra and Roblado
sending one on his account!  No, no; there was no hope of his obtaining
satisfaction.  He was cruelly robbed, and he knew that he must endure
it; but what a blighted prospect was before him!

As soon as day broke he would go to the Waco camp--he would boldly
upbraid them for their treachery.  But what purpose would that serve?
Besides, would he find them still there?  No; most likely they were
moving off to some other part at the time they had planned the robbery!

Several times during the night a wild idea occurred to him.  If he could
not have indemnity he might obtain revenge.  The Wacoes were not without
enemies.  Several bordering tribes were at war with them; and Carlos
knew they had a powerful foe in the Panes.

"My fortune is bitter," thought Carlos; "but revenge is sweet!  What if
I seek the Pane,--tell him my intention,--offer him my lance, my bow,
and my true rifle?  I have never met the Pane.  I know him not; but I am
no weak hand, and now that I have a cause for vengeance he will not
despise my aid.  My men will follow me--I know they will--anywhere; and,
tame `Tagnos' though they be, they can fight when roused to revenge.  I
shall seek the Pane!"

The last thought was uttered half aloud, and with emphasis that spoke
determination.  The cibolero was a man of quick resolves, and this
resolve he had actually come to.  It is not to be wondered at, His
indignation at being treated in such a cruel and cowardly manner--the
poor prospect before him on returning to the settlement--his natural
desire to punish those who had placed him in such a predicament--as well
as some hope which he still entertained of recovering at least a part of
his lost property,--all influenced him to this resolve.  He had
determined upon it, and was just on the point of communicating his
determination to his companions, when he was interrupted by the
half-blood Antonio.

"Master," said the latter, who appeared to have been for some time
busied with his own thoughts, "did you notice nothing strange?"

"When, Antonio?"

"During the estampeda."

"What was there strange?"

"Why, there appeared to be a good number, full half, of the rascals
afoot."

"True; I observed that."

"Now, master, I have seen a _cavallada_ stampeded by the Comanches more
than once--they were always mounted."

"What signifies that?  These are Wacoes, not Comanches."

"True, master; but I have heard that the Wacoes, like the Comanches, are
true Horse-Indians, and never go afoot on any business."

"That is indeed so," replied the cibolero in a reflective mood.
"Something strange, I confess."

"But, master," continued the half-blood, "did you notice nothing else
strange during the stampede?"

"No," answered Carlos; "I was so annoyed--so put out by the loss--I
scarce noticed anything.  What else, Antonio?"

"Why, in the midst of these yellings, did you not hear a shrill whoop
now and then--a _whistle_?"

"Ha! did you hear that?"

"More than once--distinctly."

"Where were my ears?" asked the cibolero of himself.  "You are sure,
Antonio?"

"Quite sure, master."

Carlos remained for a moment silent, evidently engaged in busy
reflection.  After a pause, he broke out in a half-soliloquy:--

"It may have been--it must have been--by Heavens! it must--"

"What, master?"

"The Pane whistle!"

"Just what I was thinking, master.  The Comanches never whoop so--the
Kiawa never.  I have not heard that the Wacoes give such a signal.  Why
not Pane?  Besides, their being afoot--that's like Pane!"

A sudden revulsion had taken place in the mind of the cibolero.  There
was every probability that Antonio's conjecture was correct.  The
"whistle" is a peculiar signal of the Pane tribes.  Moreover, the fact
of so many of the marauders being on foot--that was another peculiarity.
Carlos knew that among the Southern Indians such a tactic is never
resorted to.  The Panes are _Horse_-Indians too, but on their marauding
expeditions to the South they often go afoot, trusting to return
mounted--which they almost invariably do.

"After all," thought Carlos, "I have been wronging the Wacoes--the
robbers are Panes!"

But now a new suspicion entered his mind.  It was still the Wacoes that
had done it.  They had adopted the Pane whistle to deceive him!  A party
of them might easily be afoot--it was not such a distance to their
camp,--besides, after the estampeda they had gone in that very
direction!

No doubt, should he go there on the morrow, they would tell him that
Panes were in the neighbourhood, that it was they who had stolen his
mules--the mules of course he would not see, as these would be safely
concealed among the hills.

"No, Antonio," he said, after making these reflections, "our enemies are
the Wacoes themselves."

"Master," replied Antonio, "I hope not."

"I hope not, too, camarado.  I had taken a fancy to our friends of but
yesterday: I should be sorry to find them our foes--but I fear it is
even so."

With all, Carlos was not confident; and now that he reflected, another
circumstance came to his mind in favour of the Wacoes.  His companions
had also noted it.

That circumstance was the running of the buffaloes observed during the
past few days.  The gangs had passed from the north, going southward;
and their excited manner was almost a proof that they were pressed by a
party of hunters.  The Wacoes were all this time hunting to the south of
the cibolero's camp!  This would seem to indicate that some other
Indians were upon the north.  What more likely than a band of Panes?

Again Carlos reproached himself for his too hasty suspicions of his new
friends.  His mind was filled with doubts.  Perhaps these would be
resolved by the light of the morning.

As soon as day should arrive, he had resolved to go to the Waco camp,
and satisfy himself, or at all events openly make his inquiries.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first streaks of daylight were just falling upon the prairie, when
the quick keen eye of the half-blood, ranging the ground in every
direction, was arrested by the appearance of something odd upon the
grass.  It lay near the spot where the _mulada_ had been picketed.  It
was a darkish object in a recumbent position.  Was it bushes or gorse?
No.  It could not be that.  Its outlines were different.  It was more
like some animal lying down--perhaps a large wolf?  It was near the
place where they had fancied that they saw something in the darkness,
and at which Carlos had fired.

Antonio, on first perceiving the object, called his master's attention
to it, and both now gazed over the box of the carreta, scanning it as
well as the grey light would permit them.

As this became brighter, the object was seen more distinctly, while at
each moment the curiosity of the ciboleros increased.  They would have
long since gone out to examine it more closely; but they were not yet
free from apprehensions of a second attack from the Indians; and they
prudently remained within the corral.

At length, however, they could forego an examination no longer.  They
had formed their suspicion of what the object was; and Carlos and
Antonio climbed over the carretas, and proceeded towards it.

On arriving at the spot they were not so much surprised--for they had
partially anticipated such a thing--at finding the body of a dead
Indian.  It was lying flat upon the grass, face downwards; and, on
closer examination, a wound, from which much blood had run, was
perceived in the side.  There was the mark of a rifle bullet--Carlos had
not fired in vain!  They bent down, and turned over the body to examine
it.  The savage was in full war-costume--that is, naked to the waist,
and painted over the breast and face so as to render him as frightful as
possible: but what struck the ciboleros as most significant was the
_costume of his head_!  This was close shaven over the temples and
behind the ears.  A patch upon the top was clipped short, but in the
centre of the crown one long lock of hair remained uncut, and this lock
was intermingled with plumes, and plaited so as to hang, queue-like,
down the back.  The naked temples were stained with vermilion, and the
cheeks and bosom daubed in a similar manner.  These brilliant spots
contrasted with the colourless and deathly hue of the skin, and, with
the blanched lips and glazed eyeballs, gave to the corpse a hideous
appearance.

Carlos, after gazing upon it for some moments, turned to his companion
with a look of intelligence; and, pointing to the shaved head, and then
to the moccasins upon the Indian's feet, in a tone that expressed the
satisfaction he felt at the discovery, pronounced the word,--"Pane!"



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

The dead Indian was a Pane beyond doubt.  The tonsure of his hair, the
cut of his moccasins, his war-paint, enabled Carlos to tell this.

The cibolero was glad that he was a Pane.  He had several reasons for
being so.  First, it gratified him to know that his Waco friends were
still true; secondly, that he had punished one of the robbers; and,
lastly, the knowledge that they were Panes gave him some hope that he
might yet recover, _by the help of the Wacoes_, some of the stolen
mules.

This was not improbable.  As already stated, the Wacoes and Panes were
sworn foes; and as soon as the former should hear that the latter were
in the neighbourhood, Carlos felt sure they would go in pursuit of them.
He would share in this pursuit with his little band, and, in the event
of the Panes being defeated, might get back his _mulada_.

His first impulse, therefore, was, to gallop to the Waco camp--apprise
them of the fact that the Pane was on the war-trail, and then join them
in search of the latter.

Just then both he and Antonio remembered that the Panes had themselves
gone in the direction of the Waco camp!  It was not two miles distant--
they could hardly fail to find it, even in the night.  What if they had
taken the Wacoes by surprise, and had already made their attack!

It was quite probable--more than probable.  The time and the hour were
just in keeping.  The estampeda had occurred before midnight.  No doubt
they were then on their way to the Waco village.  They would just be in
time to make their attack, at the usual hour for such forays, between
midnight and morning.

Carlos feared he might be too late to give warning.  His Waco friends
may have already perished!  Whether or no, he determined to proceed at
once to their encampment.

Leaving Antonio and the peons with directions to guard and defend his
own camp to the last, he rode off, armed both with rifle and bow.  It
was yet but grey day, but he knew the trail leading to the Waco village,
and followed it without difficulty.  He rode with caution, scanning the
timber copses before approaching them; and running his eye along the
crests of the ridges as he advanced.

This caution was not unnecessary.  The Panes could not be far off--they
might still be in ambush between him and the Waco camp, or halted among
the hills.

The cibolero had but little fear of meeting one or two of them.  He rode
a horse in which he had full confidence; and he knew that no Pane could
overtake him; but he might be surrounded by numbers, and intercepted
before he could reach the Waco lodges.  That was the reason why he
advanced with so much caution.

His ears were set to listen attentively.  Every sound was noted and
weighed--the "gobble" of the wild turkey from the branches of the oak;
the drumming of the ruffed grouse on some dry knoll; the whistling of
the fallow-deer; or the tiny bark of the prairie marmot.  All these were
well-known sounds; and as each was uttered, the cibolero stopped and
listened attentively.  Under other circumstances he would not have
heeded them, but he knew that these sounds could be imitated, and his
ear was bent to detect any counterfeit.  He could distinguish the Pane
trail of the previous night.  A strong band there must have been, by the
numerous tracks on the grass.  At the crossing of a stream Carlos could
detect the prints of moccasins in the sand.  There were still some of
the party afoot then, though, no doubt, the stolen _mulada_ had mounted
a good many.

Carlos rode on with more caution than ever.  He was half-way to the Waco
village, and still the Pane trail led in that direction.  Surely these
could not have passed without finding it?  Such skilled warriors as the
Panes would not.  They would see the trail of the Wacoes leading to the
cibolero's own camp--they would soon discover the lodges--perhaps they
had already made their attack--perhaps--

The reflections of the cibolero were suddenly interrupted; distant
sounds fell upon his ear--shouts and cries of fearful import--with that
continued murmur that results from the mingling of many voices in loud
and confused clamour.  Now and then was heard a whoop, or a cheer, or a
shrill whistle, rising above the ordinary noises, and carrying far over
the plain its tones of triumph or revenge.

Carlos knew the import of those shouts and cries--they were the sounds
of battle!--of terrible and deadly strife!

They came from behind the hill--the cibolero was just climbing it.

He spurred his horse, and, galloping forward to its crest, looked down
into the valley.  The conflict was raging before him!

He had a full view of the dreadful scene.  Six hundred dusky horsemen
were riding about on the plain; some dashing at each other with couched
lances--some twanging their bows from a distance; and others close
together in the hand-to-hand combat of the deadly tomahawk!  Some were
charging in groups with their long spears--some wheeling into flight,
and others, dismounted, were battling on foot!  Some took shelter among
the timber islands, and sprang out again as they saw an opportunity of
sending an arrow, or lancing a foeman in the back; and so the red
contest continued.

Not a shot was heard--neither bugle nor drum sent forth their inspiring
notes--no cannon rolled its thunder--no rocket blazed--no smoke spread
its sulphury cloud upon the air; but without these sights and sounds
there was no fear of mistaking that contest for a mimic game--a
tournament of the prairies.  The wild war-whoop, and the wilder
whistle--the earnest onslaught--the fierce charging cheer--the cries of
triumph and vengeance--the neighing steeds without riders--here and
there the prostrate savage, with skinless scalp, glaring red in the
sun--the spears and hatchets crimsoned with blood,--all were evidence of
real and deadly strife, and Carlos did not doubt for a moment the
character of the scene.  Before him was an Indian fight--Waco and Pane
engaged in the earnest struggle of life and death!

All this he comprehended at a glance, and, after regarding the fight for
a moment, he could distinguish the warriors of both tribes from one
another.  The Panes, in full war-costume, were easily recognised by
their tufted scalp-locks; while the Wacoes, who had, no doubt, been
taken by surprise, were many of them in hunting-shirts and leggings.
Some, however, were nearly as naked as their adversaries; but easily
distinguished from them by their full flowing hair.

The first impulse of the cibolero was to gallop forward and mingle in
the fight,--of course, taking side with the Wacoes.  The sound of the
conflict roused his blood, and the sight of the robbers who had so
lately ruined him rendered him eager for revenge.  Many of them were
mounted upon the very mules they had taken from him, and Carlos was
determined to have some of them back again.

He was about to put spurs to his horse, and dash forward, when a sudden
change seemed to occur in the conflict that decided him to remain where
he was.  The Panes were giving way!

Many of them were seen wheeling out of the plain, and taking to flight.

As Carlos looked down the hill, he saw three of the Pane warriors in
full run, making up to the spot where he stood.  Most of the band were
still fighting, or had fled in a different direction; but these, cut off
from the rest, came directly up the hill at a gallop.

The cibolero had drawn his horse under the cover of some trees, and was
not perceived by them until they were close to the spot.

At this moment the war-cry of the Wacoes was heard directly in their
rear, and Carlos saw that two mounted warriors of that tribe were in
pursuit.  The fugitives looked back, and, seeing only two adversarios
after them, once more wheeled round and gave fight.

At their first charge one of the pursuers was killed, and the other--
whom Carlos now recognised as the Waco chief--was left alone against
three assailants.

The whip-like crack of the cibolero's rifle sounded on the air, and one
of the Panes dropped out of his saddle.  The other two, ignorant of
whence the shot had come, continued their onset on the Waco chief, who,
dashing close up, split the skull of one of there with his tomahawk.
His horse, however, bore him rapidly past, and before he could wheel
round, the remaining Pane--an active warrior--rushed after and thrust
his long spear into the back of the chief.  Its head passed clear
through his body, completely impaling him; and with a death-whoop, the
noble Indian fell from his horse to the ground.

But his enemy fell at the same time.  The arrow of the cibolero was too
late to save, though not to avenge, the Waco's fall.  It pierced the
Pane just at the moment the latter had made his thrust, and he fell to
the ground simultaneously with his victim, still clutching the handle of
the spear!

A fearful group lay dead upon the sward; but Carlos did not stay to
contemplate it.  The fight still raged in another part of the field,
and, putting spurs to his horse he galloped off to take part in it.

But the Panes had now lost many of their best warriors, and a general
panic had seized upon them, ending in their full flight.  Carlos
followed along with the victorious pursuers, now and then using his
rifle upon the fleeing robbers.  But fearing that a stray party of them
might attack his own little camp he turned from the line of pursuit, and
galloped in that direction.  On arriving, he found Antonio and the peons
fortified within their corral, and all safe.  Stray Indians had passed
them, but all apparently too much frightened to have any desire for an
attack upon the little party.

As soon as the cibolero had ascertained these facts, he turned his horse
and rode back toward the scene of the late conflict.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

As Carlos approached the spot where the chief had been slain he heard
the death-wail chanted by a chorus of voices.

On getting still nearer, he perceived a ring of warriors dismounted and
standing around a corpse.  It was that of the fallen chief.  Others,
fresh from the pursuit, were gathering to the place; each taking up the
melancholy dirge as he drew nigh.

The cibolero alighted, and walked forward to the ring.  Some regarded
him with looks of surprise, while others, who knew he had aided them in
the fight, stepped up and grasped him by the hand.  One old warrior
taking Carlos' arm in his, led him forward to the ring, and silently
pointed to the now ghastly features, as though he was imparting to the
cibolero the news that their chief was dead!

Neither he nor any of the warriors knew what part Carlos had borne in
the affair.  No one, now alive, had been witness to the conflict in
which the chief had fallen.  Around the spot were high copses that hid
it from the rest of the field, and, at the time this conflict occurred,
the fight was raging in a different direction.  The warrior, therefore,
thought he was imparting to Carlos a piece of news, and the latter
remained silent.

But there was a _mystery_ among the braves, and Carlos saw this by their
manner.  Five Indians lay dead upon the ground _unscalped_!  That was
the mystery.  They were the three Panes, and the chief with the other
Waco.  They could not have slain each other, and all have fallen on the
spot.  That was not probable.  The Waco and one of the Panes lay apart.
The other three were close together, just as they had fallen, the chief
impaled by the Pane spear, while his slayer lay behind him still
grasping the weapon!  The red tomahawk was clutched firmly in the hands
of the chief, and the cleft skull of the second Pane showed where it had
last fallen.

So far the Indians translated the tableau, but the mystery lay not
there.  Who had slain the slayer of their chief?  That was the puzzle.
Some one must have survived this deadly strife, where five warriors had
died together!

If a Pane, surely he would not have gone off without that great trophy
which would have rendered him famous for life,--the scalp of the Waco
chief?  If a Waco, where and who was he?

These questions passed from lip to lip.  No one was found to answer
them, but there were yet some warriors to return from the pursuit, and
the inquiry was suspended, while the death-song was again chanted over
the fallen chief.

At length all the braves had arrived on the spot, and stood in a circle
around the body.  One of the warriors stepped forward to the midst, and
by a signal intimated that he wished to be heard.  A breathless silence
followed, and the warrior began:--

"Wacoes! our hearts are sad when they should otherwise rejoice.  In the
midst of victory a great calamity has fallen upon us.  We have lost our
father,--our brother!  Our great chief--he whom we all loved--has
fallen.  Alas!  In the very hour of triumph, when his strong right hand
had hewn down his enemy on the field--in that moment has he fallen!

"The hearts of his warriors are sad, the hearts of his people will long
be sad!

"Wacoes! our chief has not fallen unrevenged.  His slayer lies at his
feet pierced with the deadly dart, and weltering in his blood.  Who of
you hath done this?"

Here the speaker paused for a moment as if waiting for a reply.  None
was given.

"Wacoes!" he continued, "our beloved chief has fallen, and our hearts
are sad.  But it glads them to know that his death has been avenged.
There lies his slayer, still wearing his hated scalp.  What brave
warrior claims the trophy?  Let him stop forth and take it!"

Here there was another pause, but neither voice nor movement answered
the challenge.

The cibolero was silent with the rest.  He did not comprehend what was
said, as the speech was in the Waco tongue, and he understood it not.
He guessed that it related to the fallen chief and his enemies, but its
exact purport was unknown to him.

"Brothers!" again resumed the orator, "brave men are modest and silent
about their deeds.  None but a brave warrior could have done this.  We
know that a brave warrior will avow it.  Let him fear not to speak.  The
Wacoes will be grateful to the warrior who has avenged the death of
their beloved chief."

Still the silence was unbroken, except by the voice of the orator.

"Brother warriors!" he continued, raising his voice and speaking in an
earnest tone, "I have said that the Wacoes will be grateful for this
deed.  I have a proposal to make.  Hear me!"

All signified assent by gestures.

"It is our custom," continued the speaker, "to elect our chief from the
braves of our tribe.  I propose that we elect him _now_ and _here_--
here! on the red field where his predecessor has fallen.  _I propose for
our chief the warrior who has done this deed_!"  And the orator pointed
to the fallen Pane.

"_My_ voice for the brave who has avenged our chief!" cried one.

"And mine!" shouted another.

"And mine! and mine! and mine!" exclaimed all the warriors.

"Then solemnly be it proclaimed," said the orator, "that he to whom
belongs this trophy," he pointed to the scalp of the Pane, "shall be
chief of the Waco nation!"

"Solemnly we avow it!" cried all the warriors in the ring, each placing
his hand over his heart as he spoke.

"Enough!" said the orator.  "Who is chief of the Waco warriors?  Let him
declare himself on the spot!"

A dead silence ensued.  Every eye was busy scanning the faces around the
circle, every heart was beating to hail their new chief.

Carlos, unconscious of the honour that was in store for him, was
standing a little to one side, observing the movements of his dusky
companions with interest.  He had not the slightest idea of the question
that had been put.  Some one near him, however, who spoke Spanish,
explained to him the subject of the inquiry, and he was about to make a
modest avowal, when one of the braves in the circle exclaimed--

"Why be in doubt longer?  If modesty ties the tongue of the warrior, let
his weapon speak.  Behold! his arrow still pierces the body of our foe.
Perhaps it will declare its owner,--it is a marked one!"

"True!" ejaculated the orator.  "Let us question the arrow!"

And, stepping forward, he drew the shaft from the body of the Pane, and
held it aloft.

The moment the eyes of the warriors fell upon its barbed head, an
exclamation of astonishment passed from their lips.  The head was of
_iron_!  No Waco ever used such a weapon as that!

All eyes were instantly turned on Carlos the cibolero, with looks of
inquiry and admiration.  All felt that it must be from his bow had sped
that deadly shaft; and they were the more convinced of this because some
who had noticed the third Pane pierced with a rifle bullet, had just
declared the fact to the crowd.

Yes, it must be so.  The pale-face was the avenger of their chief!



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Carlos, who by this time had become aware of the nature of their
inquiries, now stepped forward, and, in modest phrase, detailed through
the interpreter how the chief had fallen, and what part he himself had
borne in the conflict.

A loud murmur of applause broke from the circle of warriors, and the
more excited of the young men rushed forward and grasped the cibolero's
hand, uttering as they did so expressions of gratitude.  Most of the
warriors already knew that to him they were indebted for their safety.
It was the report of his rifle, fired in the night, that had put them on
their guard, and prevented the Panes from surprising their encampment,
else the day's history might have been _very_ different.  In fact, the
Panes, through this very signal having been heard, had been themselves
surprised, and that was the true secret of their disaster and sanguinary
retreat.

When, in addition to this service, it was seen how the cibolero had
fought on their side, killing several of their foes, the hearts of the
Wacoes were filled with gratitude; but now that it became known that the
pale-faced warrior was the avenger of their beloved chief, their
gratitude swelled into enthusiasm, and for some minutes their loud
expressions of it alone could be heard.

When the excitement had to some extent subsided, the warrior who seemed
to be recognised as the orator of the tribe, and who was regarded with
great deference, again stood forth to speak.  This time his speech was
directed to Carlos alone.

"White warrior!" he said.  "I have spoken with the braves of our nation.
They all feel that they owe you deep gratitude, which words cannot
repay.  The purport of our recent deliberations has been explained to
you.  Upon this ground we vowed that the avenger of him who lies cold
should be our future chief.  We thought not at the time that that brave
warrior was our white brother.  But now we know; and should we for that
be false to our vow--to our promised word?  No!--not even in thought;
and here, with equal solemnity, we again repeat that oath."

"We repeat it!" echoed around the ring of warriors, while each with
solemnity of manner placed his hand over his heart.

"White warrior!" continued the speaker, "our promise remains sacred.
The honour we offer you is the greatest that we can bestow.  It has
never been borne but by a _true_ warrior of the Waco tribe, for no
impotent descendant of even a favourite chief has ever ruled over the
braves of our nation.  We do not fear to offer this honour to you.  We
would rejoice if you would accept it.  Stranger! we will be proud of a
_white_ chief when that chief is a warrior such as you!  We know you
better than you think.  We have heard of you from our allies the
Comanche--we have heard of _Carlos the Cibolero_!

"We know you are a great warrior; and we know, too, that in your own
country, among your own people, you are nothing.  Excuse our freedom,
but speak we not the truth?  We despise your people, who are only
tyrants and slaves.  All these things have our Comanche brothers told
us, and much more of _you_.  We know who you are, then; we knew you when
you came amongst us, and were glad to see you.  We traded with you as a
friend.

"We now hail you as a brother, and thus say,--If you have no ties that
bind you to your ungrateful nation, we can offer you one that will not
be ungrateful.  Live with us,--be our chief!"

As the speaker ended, his last words were borne like an echo from lip to
lip until they had gone round the full circle of warriors, and then a
breathless silence ensued.

Carlos was so taken by surprise that for some moments he was unable to
make reply, he was not alone surprised by the singular proposal thus
singularly made to him; but the knowledge which the speaker betrayed of
his circumstances quite astonished him.  True, he had traded much among
the Comanches, and was on friendly terms with that tribe, some of whom,
in times of peace, even visited the settlement of San Ildefonso; but it
seemed odd that these savages should have noticed the fact--for fact it
was--that the cibolero was somewhat of an outcast among his own people.
Just then he had no time to reflect upon the singularity of the
circumstances, as the warriors waited his reply.

He scarcely knew what reply to make.  Hopeless outcast that he was, for
a moment the proposal seemed worthy of acceptance.  At home he was
little better than a slave; here he would be ruler, the lord elect of
all.

The Wacoes, though savages by name, were warriors, were men of hearts,
human and humane.  He had proofs of it before him.  His mother and
sister would share his destiny; but Catalina,--ha! that one thought
resolved him; he reflected no further.

"Generous warriors!" he replied; "I feel from the bottom of my heart a
full sense of the honour you have offered to confer upon me.  I wish
that by words I could prove how much I thank you, but I cannot.  My
words, therefore, shall be few and frank.  It is true that in my own
land I am not honoured,--I am one of the poorest of its people; but
there is _a tie_ that binds me to it--_a tie of the heart_ that calls
upon me to return.  Wacoes, I have spoken!"

"Enough!" said the orator; "enough, brave stranger: it is not for us to
inquire into the motives that guide your acts.  If not our chief, you
will remain our friend.  We have yet a way--a poor one--left us to show
our gratitude: you have suffered from our enemies; you have lost your
property, but that has been recovered, and shall be yours again.
Further we entreat you to remain with us for some days, and partake of
our rude hospitality.  _You_ will stay with us?"

The invitation was promptly echoed by all, and as promptly accepted.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

About a week after this time an atajo of pack-mules--nearly fifty in
number--loaded with buffalo-hides and tasajo, was seen struggling up the
eastern ceja of the Llano Estacado, and heading in a north-westerly
direction over that desert plain.  The arriero, mounted upon the
_mulera_, was a half-blood Indian.  Three carretas, drawn by oxen and
driven by dusky peons, followed the mule-train, making noise enough to
frighten even the coyotes that behind skulked through the coverts of
mezquite.  A dashing horseman mounted upon a fine black steed rode in
advance, who, ever and anon turning in his saddle, looked back with a
satisfied glance upon the fine atajo.  That horseman was _Carlos_.

The Wacoes had not forgotten to be generous.  That train of mules and
those heavy packs were the gift of the tribe to the avenger of their
chief.  But that was not all.  In the breast-pocket of the cibolero's
jacket was a "bolsa," filled with rare stuff, also a present from the
Wacoes, who promised some day that their guest should have more of the
same.  What did that bolsa contain? coin? money? jewels?  No.  It
contained only dust; but that dust was yellow and glittering.  It was
_gold_!



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

On the second day after the fiesta there was a small dining party at the
Presidio.  Merely a few bachelor friends of the Comandante--the _beaux
esprits_ of the place--including the fashionable Echevarria.  The cura
was among the number, and also the mission padres, both of whom enjoyed
the convivialities of the table equal to any "friar of orders grey."

The company had gone through the numerous courses of a Mexican meal--the
"pucheros", "guisados," and endless mixtures of "chile,"--and the dinner
was at that stage when the cloth has been carried off, and the wine
flows freely, "Canario" and "Xeres", "Pedro do Ximenes", "Madeira," and
"Bordeos," in bottles of different shapes, stood upon the table; and for
those who liked a stronger beverage there was a flask of golden
"Catalan," with another of Maraschino.  A well-stored cellar was that of
the Comandante.  In addition to his being military governor, he was, as
already hinted, collector of the _derechos de consume_, or custom-house
dues.  Hence he was the recipient of many a little present, as now and
then a basket of champagne or a dozen of Bordeaux.

His company had got fairly into the wine.  The cura had thrown aside his
sanctity and become _human_ like the rest; the padres had forgotten
their sackcloth and bead-roll, and the senior of them, Padre Joaquin,
entertained the table with spicy adventures which had occurred to him
_before_ he became a monk.  Echevarria related anecdotes of Paris, with
many adventures he had encountered among the grisettes.

The Spanish officers being the hosts were, of course, least talkative,
though the Comandante--vain as any young sub who wore his epaulettes for
the first time--could not refrain from alluding occasionally to his
terrible list of _bonnes fortunes_ among the fair Sevillanas.  He had
long been stationed at the city of oranges, and "la gracia Andalusiana"
was ever his theme of admiration.

Roblado believed in the belles of the Havannah, and descanted upon the
plump, material beauty which is characteristic of the Quadroons; while
the lieutenant expressed his _penchant_ for the small-footed
_Guadalaxarenas_--not of old Spain, but of the rich Mexican province
Guadalaxara.  _He_ had been quartered there.

So ran the talk--rough and ribald--upon that delicate theme--woman.  The
presence of the trio of churchmen was no restraint.  On the contrary,
both padres and cura boasted of their _liaisons_ with as much bawd and
brass as the others, for padres and cura were both as depraved as any of
their dining companions.  Any little reserve either might have shown
upon ordinary occasions had disappeared after a few cups of wine; and
none of them feared the company, which, on its part, stood as little in
awe of them.  The affectation of sanctity and self-denial was meant only
for the simple poblanos and the simpler peons of the settlement.  At the
dinner-table it was occasionally assumed by one or the other, but only
by way of joke,--to give point and piquancy to the relation of some
adventure.  In the midst of the conversation, which had grown somewhat
general and confused, a name was pronounced which produced a momentary
silence.  That name was "Carlos the cibolero."

At the mention of this name several countenances changed expression.
Roblado was seen to frown; on Vizcarra's face were portrayed mixed
emotions; and both padres and cura seemed to know the name unfavourably.

It was the beau Echevarria who had mentioned it.

"'Pon the honour of a cavallero! the most impudent thing I ever
witnessed in all my life, even in republican Paris!  A fellow,--a demned
trader in hides and tasajo--in short, a butcher of demned buffaloes to
aspire--_Parbleu_!"

Echevarria, though talking Spanish, always swore in French.  It was more
polite.

"Most insolent--intolerable!" cried several voices.

"I don't think the lady seemed over angry withal," remarked a blunt
young fellow, who sat near the lower end of the table.

A chorus of voices expressed dissent from this opinion.  Roblado's was
the loudest.

"Don Ramon Diaz," said he, addressing himself to the young fellow, "you
certainly could not have observed very carefully on that occasion.  I
who was beside the lady know that she was filled with disgust--" (this
was a lie, and Roblado knew it), "and her father--"

"Oh, her _father_, yes!" cried Don Ramon, laughing.  "Any one could see
that _he_ was angry--that was natural enough.  Ha! ha!"

"But who is the fellow?" inquired one.

"A splendid rider," replied Don Ramon.  "The Comandante will admit
that."  And the free speaker looked at Vizcarra with a smile of
intelligence.  The latter frowned at the observation.

"You lost a good sum, did you not?" inquired the cura of Vizcarra.

"Not to him," replied the Comandante, "but to that vulgar fellow who
seems his friend.  The worst of it is, when one bets with these low
people there is no chance of getting a _revanche_ at some other time.
One cannot meet them in the ordinary way."

"But who is the fellow?" again inquired one.

"Who?  Why, a cibolero--that's all."

"True, but is there nothing about his history?  He's a _gilero_, and
that is odd for a native!  Is he a Criollo?  He might be a Biscayan."

"Neither one nor the other.  'Tis said he's an Americano."

"Americano!"

"Not exactly that--his father was; but the padre here can tell all about
him."

The priest thus appealed to entertained the company with some facts in
the history of the cibolero.  His father had been an Americano, as it
was supposed--some stray personage who had mysteriously found his way to
the valley and settled in it long ago.  Such instances were rare in the
settlements of New Mexico; but what was rarer still, in this case the
"Americano" was accompanied by an "Americana"--the mother of Carlos--and
the same old woman who attracted so much attention on the day of San
Juan.  All the efforts of the padres to christianise either one or the
other had been in vain.  The old trapper--for such he was--died as he
had lived--a blaspheming "heretico;" and there was a general belief in
the settlement that his widow held converse with the devil.  All this
was a scandal to the Church, and the padres would long since have
expelled the guero family, but that, for some reason or other, they were
protected by the old Comandante--Vizcarra's predecessor--who had
restrained the zealous priests in their good intention.

"But, caballeros!" said the padre, glancing towards Vizcarra, "such
heretics are dangerous citizens.  In them lie the seeds of revolution
and social disturbance; and when this guero is at home, he is seen only
in the company of those we cannot watch too closely: he has been seen
with some of the suspected Tagnos, several of whom are in his service."

"Ha! with them, indeed!" exclaimed several.  "A dangerous fellow!--he
should be looked after."

The sister of the cibolero now became the subject of conversation; and
as remarks were made more or less complimentary to her beauty, the
expression upon the face of Vizcarra kept constantly changing.  That
villain was more interested in the conversation than his guests were
aware, and he had already formed his plans.  Already his agents were out
on the accomplishment of his atrocious designs.

The transition from the cibolero's sister to the other belles of the
place, and to the subject of woman in general, was natural; and the
company were soon engaged in their original conversation, which, under
the influence of additional wine, grew more "racy" than ever.

The scene ended by several of the party becoming "boracho;" and the
night being now far advanced, the guests took their leave, some of them
requiring to be conducted to their homes.  A soldier apiece accompanied
the cura and padres, all three of whom were as "drunk as lords;" and it
was no new thing for them.



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

The Comandante, with his friend Roblado, alone remained in the room, and
continued the conversation with a fresh glass and cigar.

"And you really think, Roblado, that the fellow had encouragement.  I
think so too, else he would never have dared to act as he did."

"I am quite sure of it now.  That he saw her last night, and alone, I am
certain.  As I approached the house I saw a man standing before the
reja, and leaning against the bars, as if conversing with some one
inside.  Some friend of Don Ambrosio, thought I.

"As I drew nearer, the man, who was muffled in a manga, walked off and
leaped upon a horse.  Judge my surprise on recognising in the horse the
black stallion that was yesterday ridden by the cibolero!

"When I entered the house and made inquiries as to who were at home, the
servants informed me that master was at the _mineria_, and that the
Senorita had retired, and could see no one that night!

"By Heaven!  I was in such a passion, I hardly knew what I said at the
moment.  The thing's scarce credible; but, that this low fellow is on
secret terms with her, is as sure as I am a soldier."

"It does seem incredible.  What do you mean to do, Roblado?"

"Oh!  I'm safe enough about her.  She shall be better watched for the
future.  I've had a hint given to Don Ambrosio.  You know my secret well
enough, colonel.  Her _mine is my loadstone_; but it is a cursed queer
thing to have for one's rival such a fellow as this!  Ha! ha! ha!"

Roblado's laugh was faint and unreal.  "Do you know," continued he,
striking on a new idea, "the padre don't like the guero family.  That's
evident from the hints he let drop to-night.  We may get this fellow out
of the way without much scandal, if the Church will only interfere.  The
padres can expel him at once from the settlement if they can only
satisfy themselves that he is a `heretico.'  Is it not so?"

"It is," coldly replied Vizcarra, sipping his wine; "but to expel _him_,
my dear Roblado, _some one else_ might be also driven off.  The rose
would be plucked along with the thorn.  You understand?"

"Perfectly."

"That, then, of course, I don't wish--at least not for the present.
After some time we may be satisfied to part with rose, thorn, bush,
roots, and all.  Ha! ha! ha!"

"By the way, colonel," asked the captain, "have you made any progress
yet?--have _you_ been to the house?"

"No, my dear fellow; I have not had time.  It's some distance, remember.
Besides, I intend to defer my visit until this fellow is out of the
way.  It will be more convenient to carry on my courtship in his
absence."

"Out of the way! what do you mean?"

"That the cibolero will shortly start for the Plains--to be gone,
perhaps, for several months, cutting up buffalo-beef, tricking the
Indians, and such-like employments."

"Ho! that's not so bad."

"So you see, querido camarado, there's no need for violence in the
matter.  Have patience--time enough for everything.  Before my bold
buffalo-hunter gets back, both our little affairs will be settled, I
trust.  You shall be the owner of rich mines, and I--"

A slight knock at the door, and the voice of Sergeant Gomez was heard,
asking to see the Comandante.

"Come in, sergeant!" shouted the colonel.  The brutal-looking trooper
walked into the room, and, from his appearance, it was plain he had just
dismounted from a ride.

"Well, sergeant?" said Vizcarra, as the man drew near; "speak out!
Captain Roblado may know what you have to say."

"The party, colonel, lives in the very last house down the valley,--full
ten miles from here.  There are but the three, mother, sister, and
brother--the same you saw at the fiesta.  There are three or four Tagno
servants, who help the man in his business.  He owns a few mules, oxen,
and carts, that's all.  These he makes use of in his expeditions, upon
one of which he is about to start in three or four days at the furthest.
It is to be a long one, I heard, as he is to take a new route over the
Llano Estacado."

"Over the Llano Estacado?"

"Such, I was told, was his intention."

"Anything else to say, sergeant?"

"Nothing, colonel, except that the girl has a sweetheart--the same young
fellow who bet so heavily against you at the fiesta."

"The devil!" exclaimed Vizcarra, while a deep shadow crossed his
forehead.

"He, indeed!  I suspected that.  Where does he live?"

"Not far above them, colonel.  He is the owner of a rancho, and is
reputed rich--that is for a ranchero."

"Help yourself to a glass of Catalan, sergeant."

The trooper stretched out his hand, laid hold of a bottle, and, having
filled one of the glasses, bowed respectfully to the officers, and drank
off the brandy at a draught.  Seeing that he was not wanted further, he
touched his shako and withdrew.

"So, camarado, you see it is right enough, so far as you are concerned."

"And for you also!" replied Roblado.

"Not exactly."

"Why not?"

"I don't like the story of this sweetheart--this ranchero.  The fellow
possesses money--a spirit, too, that may be troublesome.  He's not the
man one would be called upon to fight--at least not one in my position;
but _he_ is one of these people--what the cibolero is not--and has their
sympathies with him.  It would be a very different thing to get involved
with him in an affair.  Bah! what need I care?  I never yet failed.
Good night, camarado!"

"_Buenos noches_!" replied Roblado; and both, rising simultaneously from
the table, retired to their respective sleeping-rooms.



CHAPTER TWENTY.

The "ranchos" and "haciendas" of the valley extended nearly ten miles
along the stream below San Ildefonso.  Near the town they were studded
more thickly; but, as you descended the stream, fewer were met with, and
those of a poorer class.  The fear of the "Indios bravos" prevented
those who were well off from building their establishments at any great
distance from the Presidio.  Poverty, however, induced others to risk
themselves nearer the frontier; and, as for several years the settlement
had not been disturbed, a number of small farmers and graziers had
established themselves as far as eight or ten miles distance below the
town.

Half-a-mile beyond all these stood an isolated dwelling--the last to be
seen in going down the valley.  It seemed beyond the pale of
protection--so far as the garrison was concerned--for no patrol ever
extended its rounds to so distant a point.  Its owner evidently trusted
to fate, or to the clemency of the Apaches--the Indians who usually
troubled the settlement,--for the house in question was in no other way
fortified against them.  Perhaps its obscure and retired situation
contributed to its security.

It stood somewhat off the road, not near the stream, but back under the
shadow of the bluff; in fact, almost built against the cliff.

It was but a poor rancho, like all the others in the valley, and,
indeed, throughout most parts of Mexico, built of large blocks of mud,
squared in a mould and sun-dried.  Many of the better class of such
buildings showed white fronts, because near at hand gypsum was to be had
for the digging.  Some of greater pretension had windows that looked as
though they were glazed.  So they were, but not with glass.  The shining
plates that resembled it were but _laminae_ of the aforesaid gypsum,
which is used for that purpose in several districts of New Mexico.

The rancho in question was ornamented neither with wash nor windows.  It
stood under the cliff, its brown mud walls scarce contrasting with the
colour of the rock; and, instead of windows, a pair of dark holes, with
a few wooden bars across them, gave light to the interior.

This light, however, was only a supplement to that which entered by the
door, habitually kept open.

The front of the house was hardly visible from the valley road.  A
traveller would never have noticed it, and even the keen eye of an
Indian might have failed to discover it.  The singular fence that
surrounded it hid it from view,--singular to the eye of one unaccustomed
to the vegetation of this far land, it was a fence of columnar cacti.
The plants that formed it were regular fluted columns, six inches thick
and from six to ten feet high.  They stood side by side like pickets in
a stockade, so close together that the eye could scarce see through the
interstices, still further closed by the thick beard of thorns.  Near
their tops in the season these vegetable columns became loaded with
beautiful wax-like flowers, which disappeared only to give way to bright
and luscious fruits.  It was only after passing through the opening in
this fence that the little rancho could be seen; and although its walls
were rude, the sweet little flower-garden that bloomed within the
enclosure told that the hand of care was not absent.

Beyond the cactus-fence, and built against the cliff, was another
enclosure--a mere wall of _adobe_ of no great height.  This was a
"corral" where cattle were kept, and at one corner was a sort of shed or
stable of small dimensions.  Sometimes half-a-dozen mules and double the
number of oxen might be seen in that corral, and in the stable as fine a
horse as ever carried saddle.  Both were empty now, for the animals that
usually occupied them were out.  Horse, mules, and oxen, as well as
their owner, were far away upon the prairies.

Their owner was Carlos the cibolero.  Such was the home of the
buffalo-hunter, the home of his aged mother and fair sister.  Such had
been their home since Carlos was a child.

And yet they were not of the people of the valley nor the town.  Neither
race--Spanish nor Indian--claimed them.  They differed from both as
widely as either did from the other.  It was true what the padre had
said.  True that they were Americans; that their father and mother had
settled in the valley a long time ago; that no one knew whence they had
come, except that they had crossed the great plains from the eastward;
that they were _hereticos_, and that the padres could never succeed in
bringing them into the fold of the Church; that these would have
expelled, or otherwise punished them, but for the interference of the
military Comandante; and furthermore, that both were always regarded by
the common people of the settlement with a feeling of superstitious
dread.  Latterly this feeling, concentrated on the mother of Carlos, had
taken a new shape, and they looked upon her as a _hechicera_--a witch--
and crossed themselves devoutly whenever she met them.  This was not
often, for it was rare that she made her appearance among the
inhabitants of the valley.  Her presence at the fiesta of San Juan was
the act of Carlos, who had been desirous of giving a day's amusement to
the mother and sister he so much loved.

Their American origin had much to do with the isolation in which they
live.  Since a period long preceding that time, bitter jealousy existed
between the Spano-Mexican and Anglo-American races.  This feeling had
been planted by national animosity, and nursed and fomented by
priestcraft.  Events that have since taken place had already cast their
shadows over the Mexican frontier; and Florida and Louisiana were
regarded as but steps in the ladder of American aggrandisement; but the
understanding of these matters was of course confined to the more
intelligent; but all were imbued with the bad passions of international
hate.

The family of the cibolero suffered under the common prejudice, and on
that account lived almost wholly apart from the inhabitants of the
valley.  What intercourse they had was mostly with the native Indian
population--the poor Tagnos, who felt but little of this anti-American
feeling.

If we enter the rancho of Carlos we shall see the fair-haired Rosita
seated upon a _petate_, and engaged in weaving rebosos.  The piece of
mechanism which serves her for a loom consists of only a few pieces of
wood rudely carved.  So simple is it that it is hardly just to call it a
machine.  Yet those long bluish threads stretched in parallel lines, and
vibrating to the touch of her nimble fingers, will soon be woven into a
beautiful scarf to cover the head of some coquettish poblana of the
town.  None in the valley can produce such rebosos as the cibolero's
sister.  So much as he can beat all the youth in feats of horsemanship,
so much does she excel in the useful art which is her source of
subsistence.

There are but two rooms in the rancho, and that is one more than will be
found in most of its fellows.  But the delicate sentiment still exists
in the Saxon mind.  The family of the cibolero are not yet Indianised.

The kitchen is the larger apartment and the more cheerful, because
lighted by the open door.  In it you will see a small "brazero," or
altar-like fireplace--half-a-dozen earthen "ollas," shaped like urns--
some gourd-shell cups and bowls--a tortilla-stone, with its short legs
and inclined surface--some _petates_ to sit upon--some buffalo-robes for
a similar purpose--a bag of maize--some bunches of dried herbs, and
strings of red and green chile--but no pictures of saints; and perhaps
it is the only house in the whole valley where your eye will _not_ be
gratified by a sight of these.  Truly the family of the cibolero are
"hereticos."

Not last you will see an old woman seated near the fire, and smoking
_punche_ in a pipe!  A strange old woman is she, and strange no doubt
her history but that is revealed to no one.  Her sharp, lank features;
her blanched, yet still luxuriant hair; the wild gleam of her eyes; all
render her appearance singular.  Others than the ignorant could not fail
to fancy her a being different from the common order.  No wonder, then,
that these regard her as "una hechicera!"



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

Rosita knelt upon the floor, passing her little hand-shuttle through the
cotton-woof.  Now she sang--and sweetly she sang--some merry air of the
American backwoods that had been taught her by her mother; anon some
romantic lay of Old Spain--the "Troubadour," perhaps--a fine piece of
music, that gives such happy expression to the modern song "Love not."
This "Troubadour" was a favourite with Rosita; and when she took up her
bandolon, and accompanied herself with its guitar-like notes, the
listener would be delighted.

She was now singing to beguile the hours and lighten her task; and
although not accompanied by any music, her silvery voice sounded sweet
and clear.

The mother had laid aside her pipe of _punche_, and was busy as Rosita
herself.  She spun the threads with which the rebosos were woven.  If
the loom was a simple piece of mechanism, much more so was the
spinning-machine--the "huso," or "malacate"--which was nothing more or
less than the "whirligig spindle."  Yet with this primitive apparatus
did the old dame draw out and twist as smooth a thread as ever issued
from the "jenny."

"Poor dear Carlos!  One, two, three, four, five, six--six notches I have
made--he is just in his sixth day.  By this time he will be over the
Llano, mother.  I hope he will have good luck, and get well treated of
the Indians."

"Never fear, nina--my brave boy has his father's rifle, and knows how to
use it--well he does.  Never fear for Carlos!"

"But then, mother, he goes in a new direction!  What if he fall in with
a hostile tribe?"

"Never fear, nina!  Worse enemies than Indians has Carlos--worse enemies
nearer home--cowardly slaves! they hate us--both _Gachupinos_ and
_Criollos_ hate us--Spanish dogs! they hate our Saxon blood!"

"Oh, mother, say not so!  They are not _all_ our enemies.  We have some
friends."

Rosita was thinking of Don Juan.

"Few--few--and far between!  What care I while my brave son is there?
He is friend enough for us.  Soft heart--brave heart--strong arm--who
like my Carlos?  And the boy loves his old mother--his strange old
mother, as these _pelados_ think her.  He still loves his old mother.
Ha! ha! ha!  What, then, cares she for friends?  Ha! ha! ha!"

Her speech ended in a laugh of triumph, showing how much she exulted in
the possession of such a son.

"O my! what a _carga_, mother!  He never had such a carga before!  I
wonder where Carlos got all the money?"

Rosita did not know exactly where; but she had some fond suspicions as
to who had stood her brother's friend.

"_Ay de mi_!" she continued; "he will be very rich if he gets a good
market for all those fine things--he will bring back troops of mules.
How I shall long for his return!  One--two--three--six--yes, there are
but six notches in the wood.  Oh!  I wish it were full along both
edges--I do!"

Rosita's eyes, us she said this, were bent upon a thin piece of
cedar-wood that hung against the wall, and upon which six little notches
were observable.  That was her clock and calendar, which was to receive
a fresh mark each day until the cibolero's return--thus keeping her
informed of the exact time that had elapsed since his departure.

After gazing at the cedar-wood for a minute or two, and trying to make
the six notches count seven, she gave it up, and went on with her
weaving.

The old woman, laying down her spindle, raised the lid of an earthen
"olla" that stood over a little fire upon the brazero.  From the pot
proceeded a savoury steam; for it contained a stew of _tasajo_ cut into
small pieces, and highly seasoned with _cebollas_ (Spanish onions) and
_chile Colorado_ (red capsicum).

"Nina, the _guisado_ is cooked," said she, after lifting a portion of
the stew on a wooden spoon, and examining it; "let us to dinner!"

"Very well, mother," replied Rosita, rising from her loom; "I shall make
the tortillas at once."

Tortillas are only eaten warm--that is, are fit only for eating when
warm--or fresh from the "_comal_."  They are, therefore, to be baked
immediately before the meal commences, or during its continuance.

Rosita set the olla on one side, and placed the comal over the coals.
Another olla, which contained maize--already boiled soft--was brought
forward, and placed beside the "metate," or tortilla-stone; and then, by
the help of an oblong roller--also of stone--a portion of the boiled
maize was soon reduced to snow-white paste.  The metate and roller were
now laid aside, and the pretty, rose-coloured fingers of Rosita were
thrust into the paste.  The proper quantity for a "tortilla" was taken
up, first formed into a round ball, and then clapped out between the
palms until it was only a wafer's thickness.  Nothing remained but to
fling it on the hot surface of the comal, let it lie but for an instant,
then turn it, and in a moment more it was ready for eating.

These operations, which required no ordinary adroitness, were performed
by Rosita with a skill that showed she was a practised "tortillera."

When a sufficient number were piled upon the plate, Rosita desisted from
her labour, and her mother having already "dished" the guisado, both
commenced their repast, eating without knife, fork, or spoon.  The
tortillas, being still warm, and therefore capable of being twisted into
any form, served as a substitute for all these contrivances of
civilisation, which in a Mexican rancho are considered superfluous
things.

Their simple meal was hardly over when a very unusual sound fell upon
their ears.

"Ho! what's that?" cried Rosita, starting to her feet, and listening.

The sound a second time came pealing through the open door and windows.

"I declare it's a bugle!" said the girl.  "There must be soldiers."

She ran first to the door, and then up to the cactus-fence.  She peered
through the interstices of the green columns.

Sure enough there were soldiers.  A troop of lancers was marching by
twos down the valley, and not far off.  Their glittering armour, and the
pennons of their lances, gave them a gay and attractive appearance.  As
Rosita's eyes fell upon them, they were wheeling into line, halting, as
they finished the movement, with their front to the rancho, and not a
hundred paces from the fence.  The house was evidently the object of
their coming to a halt.

What could soldiers want there?  This was Rosita's first reflection.  A
troop often passed up and down the valley, but never came near the
rancho, which, as already stated, was far from the main road.  What
business could the soldiers be upon, to lead them out of their usual
track?

Rosita asked herself these questions; then ran into the house and asked
her mother.  Neither could answer them; and the girl turned to the
fence, and again looked through.

As she did so she saw one of the soldiers--from his finer dress
evidently an officer--separate from the rest, and come galloping towards
the house.  In a few moments he drew near, and, reining his horse close
up to the fence, looked over the tops of the cactus-plants.

Rosita could just see his plumed hat, and below it his face, but she
knew the face at once.  It was that of the officer who on the day of San
Juan had ogled her so rudely.  She knew he was the Comandante Vizcarra.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

The officer, from his position, had a full view of the girl as she stood
in the little enclosure of flowers.  She had retreated to the door, and
would have gone inside, but she turned to call off Cibolo, a large
wolf-dog, who was barking fiercely, and threatening the new-comer.

The dog, obedient to her voice, ran back into the house growling, but by
no means satisfied.  He evidently wanted to try his teeth on the shanks
of the stranger's horse.

"Thank you, fair Senorita," said the officer.  "It is very kind of you
to protect me from that fierce brute.  I would he were the only clangour
I had to fear in this house."

"What have you to fear, Senor?" inquired Rosita, with some surprise.

"_Your eyes_, sweet girl: more dangerous than the sharp teeth of your
dog,--they have already wounded me."

"Cavallero," replied Rosita, blushing and averting her face, "you have
not come here to jest with a poor girl.  May I inquire what is your
business?"

"Business I have none, lovely Rosita, but to see _you_,--nay, do not
leave me!--I _have_ business--that is, I am thirsty, and halted for a
drink: you will not refuse me a cup of water, fair Senorita?"

These last phrases, broken and hastily delivered, were meant to restrain
the girl from cutting short the interview, which she was about to do by
entering the house.  Vizcarra was not thirsty, neither did he wish for
water; but the laws of hospitality would compel the girl to bring it,
and the act might further his purposes.

She, without replying to his complimentary harangue, stepped into the
house, and presently returned with a gourd-shell filled with water.
Carrying it to the gate-like opening of the fences, she presented it to
him, and stood waiting for the vessel.

Vizcarra, to make his request look natural, forced down several gulps of
the fluid, and then, throwing away the rest, held out the gourd.  The
girl stretched forth her hand to receive it, but he still held it fast,
gazing intently and rudely upon her.

"Lovely senorita," he said, "may I not kiss that pretty hand that has
been so kind to me?"

"Sir! please return me the cup."

"Nay, not till I have paid for my drink.  You will accept this?"

He dropped a gold onza into the gourd.

"No, Senor, I cannot accept payment for what is only an act of duty.  I
shall not take your gold," she added, firmly.

"Lovely Rosita! you have already taken my heart, why not this?"

"I do not understand you, Senor; please put back your money, and let me
have the cup."

"I shall not deliver it up, unless you take it with its contents."

"Then you must keep it, Senor," replied she, turning away.  "I must to
my work."

"Nay, further, Senorita!" cried Vizcarra; "I have another favour to
ask,--a light for my cigar?  Here, take the cup!  See! the coin is no
longer in it!  You will pardon me for having offered it?"

Vizcarra saw that she was offended, and by this apology endeavoured to
appease her.

She received the gourd-shell from his hands, and then went back to the
house to bring him the light he had asked for.

Presently she reappeared with some red coals upon a small "brazero."

On reaching the gate she was surprised to see that the officer had
dismounted, and was fastening his horse to a stake.

As she offered him the brazero, he remarked, "I am wearied with my ride;
may I beg, Senorita, you will allow me a few minutes' shelter from the
hot sun?"

Though annoyed at this request, the girl could only reply in the
affirmative; and the next moment, with clattering spur and clanking
sabre, the Comandante walked into the rancho.

Rosita followed him in without a word, and without a word he was
received by her mother, who, seated in the corner, took no notice of his
entrance, not even by looking up at him.  The dog made a circuit around
him, growling angrily, but his young mistress chided him off; and the
brute once more couched himself upon a petate, and lay with eyes
gleaming fiercely at the intruder.

Once in the house, Vizcarra did not feel easy.  He saw he was not
welcome.  Not a word of welcome had been uttered by Rosita, and not a
sign of it offered either by the old woman or the dog.  The contrary
symptoms were unmistakeable, and the grand officer felt he was an
intruder.

But Vizcarra was not accustomed to care much for the feelings of people
like these.  He paid but little regard to their likes or dislikes,
especially where these interfered with his pleasures; and, after
lighting his cigar, he sat down on a "banqueta," with as much
nonchalance as if he were in his own quarters.  He smoked some time
without breaking silence.

Meanwhile Rosita had drawn out her loom, and, kneeling down in front of
it, went on with her work as if no stranger were present.

"Oh, indeed!" exclaimed the officer, feigning interest in the process,
"how very ingenious!  I have often wished to see this! a reboso it is?
Upon my _word_! and that is how they are woven?  Can you finish one in a
day, Senorita?"

"_Si, Senor_," was the curt reply.

"And this thread, it is cotton; is it not?"

"Si, Senor."

"It is very prettily arranged indeed.  Did you place it so yourself?"

"Si, Senor."

"Really it requires skill!  I should like much to learn how the threads
are passed."

And as he said this he left his seat upon the banqueta, and, approaching
the loom, knelt down beside it.

"Indeed, very singular and ingenious.  Ah, now, do you think, pretty
Rosita, you could teach me?"

The old woman, who was seated with her eyes bent upon the ground,
started at hearing the stranger pronounce her daughter's name, and
glanced around at him.

"I am really serious," continued he; "do you think you could teach me
this useful art?"

"No, Senor!" was the laconic reply.

"Oh! surely I am not so stupid!  I think I could learn it--it seems only
to hold this thing so,"--here he bent forward, and placed his hand upon
the shuttle, so as to touch the fingers of the girl,--"and then put it
between the threads in this manner; is it not--?"

At this moment, as if carried away by his wild passions, he seemed to
forget himself; and, turning his eyes upon the blushing girl, he
continued in an under tone, "Sweetest Rosita!  I love you,--one kiss,
fairest,--one kiss!" and before she could escape from his arms, which
had already encircled her, he had imprinted a kiss upon her lips!

A scream escaped from the girl, but another, louder and wilder, answered
it from the corner.  The old woman sprang up from her crouching
position, and running across the floor launched herself like a tigress
upon the officer!  Her long bony fingers flew out, and in an instant
were clutching his throat!

"Off! beldame! off!" cried he, struggling to escape: "off I say; or my
sword shall cut short your wretched life, off!--off!--I say!"

Still the old woman clutched and screamed, tearing wildly at his throat,
his epaulettes, or whatever she could lay hold of.

But sharper than her nails were the teeth of the great wolf-dog that
sprang almost simultaneously from his lair, and, seizing the soldier by
the limbs, caused him to bellow out at the top of his voice--

"Without there!  Sergeant Gomez!  Ho! treason! to the rescue! to the
rescue!"

"Ay! dog of a Gachupino!" screamed the old woman,--"dog of Spanish
blood! you may call your cowardly myrmidons!  Oh! that my brave son were
here, or my husband alive!  If they were, you would not carry a drop of
your villain blood beyond the threshold you have insulted!--Go!--go to
your poblanas--your _margaritas_!  Go--begone!"

"Hell and furies!  This dog--take him off!  Ho, there!  Gomez! your
pistols.  Here! send a bullet through him!  Haste! haste!"

And battling with his sabre, the valiant Comandante at length effected a
retreat to his horse.

He was already well torn about the legs, but, covered by the sergeant,
he succeeded in getting into the saddle.

The latter fired off both his pistols at the dog, but the bullets did
not take effect; and the animal, perceiving that his enemies outnumbered
him, turned and ran back into the house.

The dog was now silent, but the Comandante, as he sat in his saddle,
heard a derisive laugh within the rancho.  In the clear soft tones of
that jeering laughter he distinguished the voice of the beautiful guera!

Chagrined beyond measure, he would have besieged the rancho with his
troop, and insisted on killing the dog, had he not feared that the cause
of his ungraceful retreat might become known to his followers.  That
would be a mortification he did not desire to experience.

He returned, therefore, to the troop, gave the word to march, and the
cavalcade moved off, taking the backward road to the town.

After riding at the head of his men for a short while, Vizcarra--whose
heart was filled with anger and mortification--gave some orders to the
sergeant, and then rode off in advance, and in full gallop.

The sight of a horseman in blue manga, passing in the direction of the
rancho--and whom he recognised as the young ranchero, Don Juan--did not
do much towards soothing his angry spirit.  He neither halted nor spoke,
but, casting on the latter a malignant glance, kept on.

He did not slacken his pace until he drew bridle in the saguan of the
Presidio.

His panting horse had to pay for the bitter reflections that tortured
the soul of his master.



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

The first thing which Rosita did, after the noise without had ceased,
was to glide forth and peep through the cactus-fence.  She had heard the
bugle again, and she wished to be sure that the intruders were gone.

To her joy, she beheld the troop some distance off, defiling up the
valley.

She ran back into the house and communicated the intelligence to her
mother, who had again seated herself, and was quietly smoking her pipe
of _punche_.

"Dastardly ruffians!" exclaimed the latter.  "I knew they would be gone.
Even an old woman and a dog are enough.  Oh, that my brave Carlos had
been here!  He would have taught that proud Gachupino we were not so
helpless!  Ha! that would Carlos!"

"Do not think of it any more, dear mother; I don't think they will
return.  You have frightened them away,--you and our brave Cibolo.  How
well he behaved!  But I must see," she added, hastily casting her eyes
round the room; "he may be hurt.  Cibolo!  Cibolo! here, good fellow!
Come, I've got something for you.  Ho, brave dog!"

At the call of her well-known voice the dog came forth from his
hiding-place, and bounded up, wagging his tail, and glancing kindly in
her face.

The girl stooped down, and, passing her hands through his shaggy coat,
examined every part of his body and limbs, in fear all the while of
meeting with the red stain of a bullet.  Fortunately the sergeant's aim
had not been true.  Neither wound nor scratch had Cibolo received; and
as he sprang around his young mistress, he appeared in perfect health
and spirits.

A splendid animal he was,--one of those magnificent sheep-dogs of New
Mexico, who, though half-wolf themselves, will successfully defend a
flock of sheep from the attack of wolves, or even of the more savage
bear.  The finest sheep-dogs in the world are they, and one of the
finest of his race was Cibolo.

His mistress, having ascertained that he was uninjured, stepped upon the
banqueta, and reached up towards a singular-looking object that hung
over a peg in the wall.  The object bore some resemblance to a string of
ill-formed sausages.  But it was not that, though it was something quite
as good for Cibolo, who, by his sparkling eyes and short pleased
whimpers, showed that he knew what it was.  Yes, Cibolo had not to be
initiated into the mysteries of a string of tasajo.  Dried buffalo-meat
was an old and tried favourite; and the moment it reached his jaws,
which it did immediately after, he gave proof of this by the earnest
manner in which he set to work upon it.

The pretty Rosita, still a little apprehensive, once more peeped through
the cactus-fence to assure herself that no one was near.

But this time some one _was_ near, and the sight did not cause her any
fear,--quite the contrary.  The approach of a young man in a blue manga,
mounted upon a richly-caparisoned horse, had a contrary effect
altogether, and Rosita's little heart now beat with confidence.

This young horseman was Don Juan the ranchero.  He rode straight up to
the opening, and seeing the guera cried out in a frank friendly voice,
"_Buenos dias, Rosita_!"

The reply was as frank and friendly--a simple return of the salutation--

"_Buenos dias, Don Juan_!"

"How is the Senora your mother to-day?"

"_Muchas gracias_, Don Juan! as usual she is.  Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!"

"_Hola_!" exclaimed Don Juan.  "What are you laughing at, Rosita?"

"Ha! ha! ha!  Saw you nothing of the fine soldiers?"

"True, I did.  I met the troop as I came down, going up the valley in a
gallop, and the Comandante riding far ahead, as if the Apaches were
after him.  In truth, I thought they had met the Indios bravos--for I
know that to be their usual style of riding after an interview with
these gentry."

"Ha! ha! ha!" still laughed the little blonde, "but did you notice
nothing odd about the officer?"

"I think I did.  He looked as though he had ridden through the
chapparal; but I had scarce a glance at him, he passed so quickly.  He
gave _me_ one that was anything but friendly.  No doubt he remembers the
loss of his gold onzas at San Juan.  Ha! ha!  But, dear Rosita, what may
you be laughing at?  Have the soldiers been here?  Anything happened?"

Rosita now gave an account of the Comandante's visit; how he had called
to light his cigar and get a drink of water; how he had entered the
house and been attacked by Cibolo, which caused the precipitate retreat
to his horse, and his hasty departure from the place.  She was silent,
however, about the most important particulars.  She said nothing of the
insulting speeches which Vizcarra had made--nothing of the kiss.  She
feared the effect of such a communication on Don Juan.  She knew her
lover was of a hot rash disposition.  He would not hear these things
quietly; he would involve himself in some trouble on her account; and
these considerations prompted her to conceal the cause that had led to
the "scene."  She, therefore, disclosed only the more ludicrous effects,
at which she laughed heartily.

Don Juan, even knowing only so much, was inclined to regard the affair
more seriously.  A visit from Vizcarra--a drink of water--light his
cigar--enter the rancho--all very strange circumstances, but not at all
laughable, thought Don Juan.  And then to be attacked and torn by the
dog--to be driven from the house in such a humiliating manner--in
presence of his own troop, too!--Vizcarra--the vainglorious Vizcarra--
the great militario of the place--the hero of a hundred Indian battles
that never were fought--he to be conquered by a cur!  Seriously, thought
Don Juan, it was not an affair to laugh at.  Vizcarra would have
revenge, or try hard to obtain it.

The young ranchero had other unpleasant thoughts in connexion with this
affair.  What could have brought the Comandante to the rancho?  How had
he found out that interesting abode,--that spot, sequestered as it was,
that seemed to him (Don Juan) to be the centre of the world?  Who had
directed him that way?  What brought the troop out of the main road,
their usual route of march?

These were questions which Don Juan put to himself.  To have asked them
of Rosita would have been to disclose the existence of a feeling he
would rather keep concealed--jealousy.

And jealous he was at the moment.  The drink, she had served him of
course,--the cigar, she had lit it for him--perhaps invited him in!
Even now she appeared in the highest spirits, and not at all angry at
the visit that had been paid her!

Don Juan's reflections had suddenly grown bitter, and he did not join in
the laugh which his sweetheart was indulging in.

When after a short while she invited him in, his feelings took a turn,
and he became himself again.  He dismounted from his horse, and followed
Rosita through the garden into the house.

The girl sat down by the loom and continued her work, while the young
ranchero was allowed to kneel upon the petate beside her, and converse
at will.  There was no objection to his occasionally assisting her to
straighten out the woof or untwist a fouled thread; and, on these
occasions, their fingers frequently met, and seemed to remain longer in
contact than was necessary for the unravelling of the knot.

But no one noticed all this.  Rosita's mother was indulging in a siesta;
and Cibolo, if he saw anything amiss, said nothing about it to any one,
but wagged his tail, and looked good-humouredly at Don Juan, as if he
entirely approved of the latter's conduct.



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

When Vizcarra reached his sumptuous quarters, the first thing he did was
to call for wine.  It was brought, and he drank freely and with fierce
determination.

He thought by that to drown his chagrin; and for a while he succeeded.

There is relief in wine, but it is only temporary: you may make jealousy
drunk and oblivious, but you cannot keep it so.  It will be sober as
soon--ay, sooner than yourself.  Not all the wine that was ever pressed
from grapes can drown it into a complete oblivion.

Vizcarra's heart was filled by various passions.  There was love--that
is, such love as a libertine feels; jealousy; anger at the coarse
handling he had experienced; wounded self-love, for with his gold-lace
and fine plumes he believed himself a conqueror at first sight; and upon
the top of all, bitter disappointment.

This last was the greater that he did not see how his suit could be
renewed.  To attempt a similar visit would lead to similar chagrin,--
perhaps worse.

It was plain the girl did not care for him, with all his fine feathers
and exalted position.  He saw that she was very different from the
others with whom he had had dealings--different from the dark-eyed
doncellas of the valley, most of whom, if not all, would have taken his
onza without a word or a blush!

It was plain to him he could go no more to the rancho.  Where, then, was
he to meet her--to see her?  He had ascertained that she seldom came to
the town--never to the amusements, except when her brother was at home.
How and where, then, was he to see her?  His was a hopeless case--no
opportunity of mending his first _faux pas_--none, any more than if the
object of his pursuit was shut up in the cloisters of a nunnery!
Hopeless, indeed!  Thus ran his reflections.

Though uttering this phrase, he had no belief in its reality.  He had no
intention of ending the affair so easily.  He--the lady-killer,
Vizcarra--to fail in the conquest of a poor ranchera!  He had never
failed, and would not now.  His vanity alone would have urged him
farther in the affair; but he had a sufficient incentive to his strong
passion,--for strong it had now grown.  The opposition it had met--the
very difficulty of the situation--only stimulated him to greater energy
and earnestness.

Besides, jealousy was there, and that was another spur to his excited
pride.

He was jealous of Don Juan.  He had noticed the latter on the day of the
fiesta.  He had observed him in the company of the cibolero and his
sister.  He saw them talking, drinking, feasting together.  He was
jealous _then_; but that was light, for then he still anticipated his
own easy and early triumph.  That was quiet to the feeling that tortured
him now--now that _he had failed_--now that he had seen in the very hour
of his humiliation that same rival on his road to the rancho--welcome,
no doubt--to be told of all that had happened--to join her in jeering
laughter at his expense--to--Furies! the thought was intolerable.

For all that the Comandante had no idea of relinquishing his design.
There were still means--foul, if not fair--if he could only think of
them.  He wanted some head cooler than his own.  Where was Roblado?

"Sergeant! tell Captain Roblado I wish to speak with him."

Captain Roblado was just the man to assist him in any scheme of the
sort.  They were equally villains as regarded women; but Vizcarra's
_metier_ was of a lighter sort--more of the genteel-comedy kind.  His
forte lay in the seductive process.  He made love _a la Don Giovanni_,
and carried hearts in what he deemed a legitimate manner; whereas
Roblado resorted to any means that would lead most directly to the
object--force, if necessary and safe.  Of the two Roblado was the
coarser villain.

As the Comandante had failed in his way, he was determined to make trial
of any other his captain might suggest; and since the latter knew all
the "love stratagems," both of civilised and savage life, he was just
the man to suggest something.

It chanced that at this time Roblado wanted counsel himself upon a
somewhat similar subject.  He had proposed for Catalina, and Don
Ambrosio had consented; but, to the surprise of all, the Senorita had
rebelled!  She did not say she would _not_ accept Captain Roblado.  That
would have been too much of a defiance, and might have led to a summary
interference of paternal authority.  But she had appealed to Don
Ambrosio for time--she was not ready to be married!  Roblado could not
think of time--he was too eager to be rich; but Don Ambrosio had
listened to his daughter's appeal, and there lay the cause of the
captain's trouble.

Perhaps the Comandante's influence with Don Ambrosio might be the means
of overruling this decision and hastening the wished-for nuptials.
Roblado was therefore but too eager to lay his superior under an
obligation.

Roblado having arrived, the Comandante explained his case, detailing
every circumstance that had happened.

"My dear colonel, you did not go properly to work.  I am astonished at
that, considering your skill and experience.  You dropped like an eagle
upon a dovecot, frightening the birds into their inaccessible holes.
You should not have gone to the rancho at all."

"And how was I to see her?"

"In your own quarters; or elsewhere, as you might have arranged it."

"Impossible!--she would never have consented to come."

"Not by your sending for her direct; I know that."

"And how, then?"

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Roblado; "are you so innocent as never to have
heard of such a thing as an `_alcahuete_'?"

"Oh! true--but by my faith I never found use for one."

"No!--you in your fine style have deemed that a superfluity; but you
might find use for one now.  A very advantageous character that, I
assure you--saves much time and trouble--diminishes the chances of
failure too.  It's not too late.  I advise you to try one.  If that
fails, you have still another string to your bow."

We shall not follow the conversation of these ruffians further.  Enough
to say that it led into details of their atrocious plans, which, for
more than an hour, they sat concocting over their wine, until the whole
scheme was set forth and placed in readiness to be carried out.

It _was_ carried out, in fine, but led to a different ending from what
either anticipated.  The "lady" who acted as "alcahuete" soon placed
herself _en rapport_ with Rosita; but her success was more equivocal
than that of Vizcarra himself; in fact, I should rather say unequivocal,
for there was no ambiguity about it.

As soon as her designs were made known to Rosita, the latter
communicated them to her mother; and the scratches which the Comandante
had received were nothing to those which had fallen to the lot of his
proxy.  The "alcahuete" had, in fact, to beg for her life before she was
allowed to escape from the terrible Cibolo.

She would have sought legal revenge, but that the nature of her business
made it wiser for her to pocket the indignities, and remain silent.



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

"Now, Roblado," asked the Comandante, "what is the other string to my
bow?"

"Can't you guess, my dear colonel?"

"Not exactly," replied Vizcarra, though he well knew that he could.  It
was not long since the other string had been before his mind.  He had
even thought of it upon the day of his first defeat, and while his anger
was hot and revengeful.  And since then, too--often, often.  His
question was quite superfluous, for he well knew Roblado's answer would
be "force."

It _was_ "force."  That was the very word.  "How?"

"Take a few of your people, go by night, and carry her off.  What can be
more simple?  It would have been the proper way at first, with such a
prude as she!  Don't fear the result.  It's not so terrible to them.
I've known it tried before.  Long ere the cibolero can return, she'll be
perfectly reconciled, I warrant you."

"And if not?"

"If not, what have you to fear?"

"The talk, Roblado--the talk."

"Bah! my dear colonel, you are timid in the matter.  You have mismanaged
it so far, but that's no reason you should not use tact for the future.
It can be done by night.  You have chambers here where no one is allowed
to enter--some _without windows_, if you need them.  Who's to be the
wiser?  Pick your men--those you can trust.  You don't require a whole
troop, and half-a-dozen onzas will tie as many tongues.  It's as easy as
stealing a shirt.  It is only stealing a chemisette.  Ha! ha! ha!" and
the ruffian laughed at his coarse simile and coarser joke, in which
laugh he was joined by the Comandante.

The latter still hesitated to adopt this extreme measure.  Not from any
fineness of feeling.  Though scarce so rough a villain as his companion,
it was not delicacy of sentiment that restrained him now.  He had been
accustomed all his life to regard with heartless indifference the
feelings of those he had wronged; and it was not out of any
consideration for the future happiness or misery of the girl that he
hesitated now.  No, his motive was of a far different character.
Roblado said true when he accused him of being timid.  He was.  It was
sheer cowardice that stayed him.

Not that he feared any bodily punishment would ever reach him for the
act.  He was too powerful, and the relatives of his intended victim too
weak, to give him any apprehensions on that score.  With a little policy
he could administer death,--death to the most innocent of the people,--
and give it a show of justice.  Nothing was more easy than to cause
suspicion of treason, incarcerate, and slay--and particularly at that
time, when both Pueblo revolt and Creole revolution threatened the
Spanish rule in America.

What Vizcarra feared was "talk."  Such an open rape could not well be
kept secret for long.  It would leak out, and once out it was too
piquant a piece of scandal not to have broad fame: all the town would
soon enjoy it.  But there was a still more unpleasant probability.  It
might travel beyond the confines of the settlement, perhaps to high
quarters, even to the Vice-regal ear!  There find we the secret of the
Comandante's fears.

Not indeed that the Vice-regal court at the time was a model of
morality.  It would have been lenient enough to any act of despotism or
debauchery done in a quiet way; but such an open act of rapine as that
contemplated, on the score of policy, could hardly be overlooked.  In
truth, Vizcarra's prudence had reason.  He could not believe that it
would be possible to keep the thing a secret.  Some of the rascals
employed might in the end prove traitors.  True, they would be his own
soldiers, and he might punish them for it at his will, but what
satisfaction would that give him?  It would be locking the stable after
the steed had been stolen!

Even without their playing him false, how could he hope to keep the
affair concealed?  First, there was an angry brother.  True, he was out
of the way; but there was a jealous lover on the ground, and the brother
would return in time.  The very act of the rape would point to him,
Vizcarra.  His visit, the attempt of the "alcahuete," and the carrying
off of the girl, would all be pieced together, and put down to his
credit; and the brother--such a one--and such a lover too--would not be
silent with their suspicious.  He might take measures to get rid of
both, but these measures must needs be violent and dangerous.

Thus reasoned Vizcarra with himself, and thus he argued with Roblado.
Not that he wished the latter to dissuade him--for the end he desired
with all his heart--but in order that by their united wisdom some safer
means of reaching it might be devised.

And a safer plan _was_ devised.  Roblado, deeper in head, as well as
bolder in heart, conceived it.  Bringing his glass to the table with a
sudden stroke, he exclaimed--

"_Vamos_, Vizcarra!  By the Virgin, I have it!"

"_Bueno_--_bravo_!"

"You may enjoy your sweetheart within twenty four hours, if you wish,
and the sharpest scandalmonger in the settlement will be foiled; at
least, you will have nothing to fear.  What a devil of a lucky
thought!--the very thing itself, amigo!"

"Don't keep me in suspense, camarado! your plan! your plan!"

"Stop till I've had a gulp of wine.  The very thought of such a glorious
trick makes me thirsty."

"Drink then, drink!" cried Vizcarra, filling out the wine, with a look
of pleasant anticipation.

Roblado emptied the goblet at a draught, and then, leaning nearer to the
Comandante, he detailed what he had conceived in a low and confidential
tone.  It seemed to satisfy his listener, who, when the other had
finished, uttered the word "Bravo!" and sprang to his feet like one who
had received some joyful news.  He walked back and forth for some
minutes in an excited manner, and then, bursting into a loud laugh, he
cried out, "_Carrambo_, comrade! you _are_ a tactician!  The great Conde
himself would not have shown such strategy.  _Santisima Virgen_! it is
the very master-stroke of design; and I promise you, camarado, it shall
have speedy execution."

"Why delay?  Why not set about it at once?"

"True,--at once let us prepare for this _pleasant masquerade_!"



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

Circumstances were arising that would be likely to interrupt the
Comandante and his captain in the execution of their design.  At least
so it might have been supposed.  In less than twenty-four hours after
the conversation described, a rumour of Indian incursions was carried to
the town, and spread through every house in the valley.  The rumour said
that a band of "Indios bravos,"--whether Apache, Yuta, or Comanche, was
not stated,--had made their appearance near the settlement, in full
_war-paint and costume_!

This of course denoted hostile intentions, and an attack might be
expected in some part of the settlement.  The first rumour was followed
by one still more substantial,--that the Indians had attacked some
shepherds in the upper plain, not far from the town itself.  The
shepherds had escaped, but their dogs had been killed, and a large
number of sheep driven off to the mountain fastnesses of the marauders!

This time the report was more definite.  The Indians were Yutas, and
belonged to a band of that tribe that had been hunting to the east of
the Pecos, and who had no doubt resolved upon this plundering expedition
before returning to their _home_, near the heads of the Del Norte.  The
shepherds had seen them distinctly, and knew the _Yuta paint_.

That the Indians were Yutas was probable enough.  The same tribe had
lately made a foray upon the settlements in the fine valley of Taos.
They had heard of the prosperous condition of San Ildefonso, and hence
their hostile visit.  Besides, both Apaches and Comanches were _en paz_
with the settlement, and had for some years confined themselves to
ravaging the provinces of Coahuila and Chihuahua.  No provocation had
been given to these tribes to recommence hostilities, nor had they given
any signs of such an intention.

Upon the night of the same day in which the sheep were carried off, a
more important robbery was committed.  That took place in the settlement
itself.  A large number of cattle were driven off from a grazing-farm
near the lower end of the valley.  The Indians had been seen in the act,
but the frightened vaqueros were but too glad to escape, and shut
themselves up in the buildings of the farm.

No murders had as yet been committed, but that was because no resistance
had been made to the spoliations.  Nor had any houses been yet attacked.
Perhaps the Indians were only a small band; but there was no knowing
how soon their numbers might be increased, and greater outrages
attempted.

The people of the valley, as well as those in the town, were now in a
state of excitement.  Consternation prevailed everywhere.  Those who
lived in the scattered ranchos forsook their homes during the night, and
betook themselves to the town and the larger haciendas for shelter.
These last were shut up as soon as darkness approached, and regular
sentries posted upon their azoteas, who kept watch until morning.  The
terror of the inhabitants was great,--the greater because for a long
period they had lived on good terms with the Indios bravos, and a visit
from them was novel as unexpected.

No wonder that they were alarmed.  They had cause for it.  They well
knew that in these hostile incursions the savage enemy acts with the
utmost barbarity,--murdering the men, and sparing only the younger
women, whom they carry off to a cruel captivity.  They well knew this,
for at that very date there were thousands of their countrywomen in the
hands of the wild Indians, lost to their families and friends for ever!
No wonder that there was fear and trembling.

The Comandante seemed particularly on the alert.  At the head of his
troops he scoured the neighbouring plains, and made incursions towards
the spurs of the mountains.  At night his patrols were in constant
motion up and down the valley.  The people were admonished to keep
within their houses, and barricade their doors in case of attack.  All
admired the zeal and activity of their military protectors.

The Comandante won golden opinions daily.  This was the first real
opportunity he had had of showing them his "pluck," for there had been
no alarm of Indians since he arrived.  In the time of his predecessor
several had taken place, and on these occasions it was remembered that
the troops, instead of going abroad to search for the "barbaros," shut
themselves up in the garrison till the latter were gone clear out of the
valley, after having carried off all the cattle they could collect!
What a contrast in the new Comandante!  What a brave officer was Colonel
Vizcarra!

This excitement continued for several days.  As yet no murders had been
committed, nor any women, carried off; and as the Indians had only
appeared in the night, the probability was that they were in but small
force,--some weak band of robbers.  Had it been otherwise, they would
have long since boldly shown themselves by daylight, and carried on
their depredations on a much larger scale.

During all this time the mother and sister of the cibolero lived in
their lone rancho without any protection, and were, perhaps, less in
dread of the Indians than any other family in the whole valley.  This
was to be attributed to several causes.  First, their training, which
had taught them to make light of dangers that terrified their less
courageous neighbours.  Secondly, their poor hut was not likely to tempt
the cupidity of Indian robbers, whose design was evidently plunder.
There were too many well-stocked ranchos a little farther up the valley.
The Indians would not be likely to molest them.

But there was still a better reason for this feeling, of confidence on
their part, and that was somewhat of a family secret.  Carlos, having
traded with all the neighbouring tribes, was known to the Indians, and
was on terms of friendship with nearly every one of their chiefs.  One
cause of this friendship was, that Carlos was known to them as an
_American_.  Such was their feeling in regard to Americans that, at this
time, and for a long period after, both the trappers and traders of that
nation could pass through the whole Apache and Comanche range in the
smallest parties without molestation, while large caravans of Mexicans
would be attacked and robbed!  It was only long after that these tribes
assumed a fierce hostility against the Saxon whites; and this was
brought about by several acts of barbarism committed by parties of the
whites themselves.

In his dealings with the Indios bravos, then, the cibolero had not
forgotten his little rancho at home; and he had always counselled his
mother and sister not to fear the Indians in his absence, assuring them
that these would not molest them.

The only tribe with which Carlos was not on friendly terms was the
Jicarilla, a small and miserable band that lived among the mountains
north-east of Santa Fe.  They were a branch of the Apaches, but lived
apart, and had little in common with the great freebooters of the
south--the _Mezcaleros_ and _Wolf-eaters_.

For these reasons, then, the little Rosita and her mother, though not
entirely without apprehension, were yet less frightened by the current
rumours of the time than their neighbours.

Every now and then Don Juan rode over to the rancho, and advised them to
come and stay at his house--a large strong building well defended by
himself and his numerous peons.  But the mother of Rosita only laughed
at the fears of Don Juan; and Rosita herself, from motives of delicacy,
of course refused to accede to his proposal.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was the third night from the time the Indians had been first heard
of.  The mother and daughter had laid aside their spindle and loom, and
were about to retire to their primitive couches on the earthen floor,
when Cibolo was seen to spring from his petate, and rush towards the
door, growling fiercely.

His growl increased to a bark--so earnest, that it was evident some one
was outside.  The door was shut and barred; but the old woman, without
even inquiring who was there, pulled out the bar, and opened the door.

She had scarcely shown herself when the wild whoop of Indians rang in
her ears, and a blow from a heavy club prostrated her upon the
threshold.  Spite the terrible onset of the dog, several savages, in all
the horrid glare of paint and feathers, rushed into the house yelling
fearfully, and brandishing their weapons; and in less than five minutes'
time, the young girl, screaming with terror, was borne in their arms to
the outside of the rancho, and there tied upon the back of a mule.

The few articles which the Indians deemed of any value were carried away
with them; and the savages, after setting fire to the rancho, made off
in haste.

Rosita saw the blaze of the rancho as she sat tied upon the mule.  She
had seen her mother stretched upon the door-step, and was in fact
dragged over her apparently lifeless form; and the roof was now in
flames!

"My poor mother!" she muttered in her agony; "O God!  O God! what will
become of my poor mother?"

Almost simultaneously with this attack, or a little after it, the
Indians appeared before the house of the ranchero, Don Juan; but, after
yelling around it and firing several arrows over the azotea and against
the door, they retired.

Don Juan was apprehensive for his friends at the rancho.  As soon as the
Indians had gone away from about his own premises, he stole out; and,
trusting to the darkness, made his way in that direction.

He had not gone far before the blaze of the building came under his
eyes, causing the blood to rush cold through his veins.

He did not stop.  He was afoot, but he was armed, and he dashed madly
forward, resolved to defend Rosita, or die!

In a few minutes he stood before the door of the rancho; and there, to
his horror, lay the still senseless form of the mother, her wild and
ghastly features illuminated by the blaze from the roof.  The fire had
not yet reached her, though in a few moments more she would have been
buried in the flames!

Don Juan drew her forth into the garden, and then rushed frantically
around calling on Rosita.

But there was no reply.  The crackling blaze--the sighing of the night
wind--the hooting of the cliff owl, and the howling of the _coyote_,
alone answered his anxious calls.

After remaining until all hope had vanished, he turned towards the
prostrate body, and knelt down to examine it.  To his surprise there was
still life, and, after her lips had been touched with water, the old
woman showed symptoms of recovery.  She had only been stunned by the
heavy blow.

Don Juan at length lifted her in his arms, and taking the well-known
path returned with his burden, and with a heavy heart, to his own house.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next morning the news of the affair was carried through all the
settlement, adding to the terror of the inhabitants.  The Comandante
with a large troop galloped conspicuously through the town; and after
much loud talk and empty demonstrations, went off on the trail which the
Indians were supposed to have taken.

Long before night the troopers returned with their usual report, "_los
barbaros no pudimos alcanzar_."  (We could not overtake the savages.)

They said that they had followed the trail to the Pecos, where the
Indians had crossed, and that the savages had continued on towards the
Llano Estacado.

This piece of news gave some relief, for it was conjectured, if the
marauders had gone in that direction, their plundering would end.  They
had probably proceeded to join the rest of their tribe, known to be
somewhere in that quarter.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

Vizcarra and his gay lancers passed up the valley, on their return from
the pursuit at an early hour of the evening.

Scarcely had a short hour elapsed when another cavalcade, dusty and
wayworn, was seen moving along the same road, and heading towards the
settlements.  It could hardly be termed a cavalcade, as it consisted of
an atajo of pack-mules, with some carretas drawn by oxen.  One man only
was on horseback, who, by his dress and manner, could be recognised as
the owner of the atajo.

Despite the fatigue of a long march, despite the coating of dust which
covered both horse and rider, it was not difficult to tell who the
horseman was.  Carlos the cibolero!

Thus far had he reached on his homeward way.  Another stretch of five
miles along the dusty road, and it would halt before the door of his
humble rancho.  Another hour, and his aged mother, his fond sister,
would fling themselves into his arms, and receive his affectionate
embrace!

What a surprise it would be!  They would not be expecting him for
weeks--long weeks.

And what a surprise he had for them in another way!  His wonderful luck!
The superb mulada and cargo,--quite a little fortune indeed!  Rosita
should have a new dress,--not a coarse woollen nagua, but one of silk,
real foreign silk, and a manta, and the prettiest pair of satin
slippers--she should wear fine stockings on future fiesta days--she
should be worthy of his friend Don Juan.  His old mother, too--she
should drink tea, coffee, or chocolate, which she preferred--no more
_atole_ for her!

The rancho was rude and old--it should come down, and another and better
one go up in its place--no--it would serve as a stable for the horse,
and the new rancho should be built beside it.  In fact, the sale of his
mulada would enable him to buy a good strip of land, and stock it well
too.

What was to hinder him to turn ranchero, and farm or graze on his own
account?  It would be far more respectable, and would give him a higher
standing in the settlement.  Nothing to hinder him.  He would do so; but
first one more journey to the plains--one more visit to his Waco
friends, who had promised him--Ha! it was this very promise that was the
keystone of all his hopes.

The silk dress for Rosita, the luxuries for his old mother, the new
house, the farm, were all pleasant dreams to Carlos; but he indulged a
dream of a still pleasanter nature--a dream that eclipsed them all; and
his hopes of its realisation lay in that one more visit to the country
of the Wacoes.

Carlos believed that his poverty alone was the barrier that separated
him from Catalina.  He knew that her father was not, properly speaking,
one of the "rico" class.  True, he was a rico now: but only a few years
ago he had been a poor "gambucino"--poor as Carlos himself.  In fact,
they had once been nearer neighbours; and in his earlier days Don
Ambrosio had esteemed the boy Carlos fit company for the little
Catalina.

What objection, then, could he have to the cibolero--provided the latter
could match him in fortune?  "Certainly none," thought Carlos.  "If I
can prove to him that I, too, am a `rico,' he will consent to my
marrying Catalina.  And why not?  The blood in my veins--so says my
mother--is as good as that of any hidalgo.  And, if the Wacoes have told
me the truth, one more journey and Carlos the cibolero will be able to
shew as much gold as Don Ambrosio the miner!"

These thoughts had been running in his mind throughout the whole of his
homeward journey.  Every day--every hour--did he build his aery castles;
every hour did he buy the silk dress for Rosita--the tea, coffee, and
chocolate for his mother; every hour did he erect the new rancho, buy
the farm, show a fortune in gold-dust, and demand Catalina from her
father!  _Chateaux en Espagne_!

Now that he was close to his home, these pleasant visions grew brighter
and seemed nearer; and the countenance of the cibolero was radiant with
joy.  What a fearful change was soon to pass over it!

Several times he thought of spurring on in advance, the sooner to enjoy
the luxury of his mother's and sister's welcome; and then he changed his
mind again.

"No," muttered he to himself; "I will stay by the atajo.  I will better
enjoy the triumph.  We shall all march up in line, and halt in front of
the rancho.  They will think I have some stranger with me, to whom
belong the mules!  When I announce them as my own they will fancy that I
have turned Indian, and made a _raid_ on the southern provinces, with my
stout retainers.  Ha! ha! ha!"  And Carlos laughed at the conceit.

"Poor little Rosy!" he continued; "she _shall_ marry Don Juan this time!
I won't withhold my consent any longer?  It would be better, too.  He's
a bold fellow, and can protect her while I'm off on the plains again:
though one more journey, and I have done with the plains.  One more
journey, and I shall change my title from Carlos the cibolero to Senor
Don Carlos R--, Ha! ha! ha!"

Again he laughed at the prospect of becoming a "rico," and being
addressed as "Don Carlos."

"Very odd," thought he, "I don't meet anyone.  I don't see a soul upon
the road up or down.  Yet it's not late--the sun's above the bluff
still.  Where can the people be?  And yet the road's covered thick with
fresh horse-tracks!  Ha! the troops have been here! they have just
passed up!  But that's no reason why the people are not abroad; and I
don't see even a straggler!  Now I could have believed there was an
alarm of Indians had I not seen these tracks; but I know very well that,
were the Apaches on their war-trail, my Comandante and his Whiskerandos
would never have ventured so far from the Presidio--that I know.

"Well, there's something extraordinary!  I can't make it out.  Perhaps
they're all up to the town at some fiesta.  Anton, my boy, you know all
the feast-days!  Is this one?"

"No, master."

"And where are all the folks?"

"Can't guess, master!  Strange we don't see some!"

"So I was thinking.  You don't suppose there have been wild Indians in
the neighbourhood?"

"No, master--_mira_!  They're the tracks of the `lanzeros'--only an hour
ago.  No Indians where they are!"

As Antonio said this, both his accent and look had an expression which
guided his master to the true meaning of his words, which might
otherwise have been ambiguous.  He did not mean that the fact of the
lancers having been on the ground would prevent the Indians from
occupying it, but exactly the reverse.  It was, not "lancers no
Indians," but "Indians no lancers," that Antonio meant.

Carlos understood him; and, as this had been his own interpretation of
the tracks, he burst out into a fit of laughter.

Still no travellers appeared, and Carlos did not like it.  As yet he had
not thought of any misfortune to those he loved; but the unpeopled road
had an air of loneliness about it, and did not seem to welcome him.

As he passed on a feeling of sadness came stealing over him, which after
it had fairly taken possession he could not get rid of.

He had not yet passed a settlement.  There were none before reaching his
own rancho, which, as already stated, was the lowest in the valley.
Still the inhabitants fed their flocks far below that; and it was usual,
at such an hour, to see them driving their cattle home.  He neither saw
cattle nor vaqueros.

The meadows on both sides, where cattle used to graze, were empty!  What
could it mean?

As he noticed these things an indefinite sense of uneasiness and alarm
began to creep over him; and this feeling increased until he had arrived
at the turning which led to his own rancho.

At length he headed around the forking angle of the road; and having
passed the little coppices of evergreen oaks, came within sight of the
house.  With a mechanical jerk he drew his horse upon his haunches, and
sat in the saddle with open jaw and eyes glaring and protruded.

The rancho he could not see--for the covering interposal columns of the
cacti--but through the openings along their tops a black line was
visible that had an unnatural look, and a strange film of smoke hung
over the azotea!

"God of heaven! what can it mean?" cried he, with a choking voice; but,
without waiting to answer himself, he lanced the flanks of his horse
till the animal shot off like an arrow.

The intervening ground was passed; and, flinging himself from the
saddle, the cibolero rushed through the cactus-fence.

The atajo soon after came up.  Antonio hurried through: and there,
inside the hot, smoke-blackened walls, half-seated, half-lying on the
banqueta, was his master, his head hanging forward upon his breast, and
both hands nervously twisted in the long curls of his hair.

Antonio's foot-fall caused him to look up--only for a moment.

"O God!  My mother--my sister!"  And, as he repeated the words, his head
once more fell forward, while his broad breast rose and fell in
convulsed heaving.  It was an hour of mortal agony; for some secret
instinct had revealed to him the terrible truth.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

For some minutes Carlos remained stupefied with the shock, and made no
effort to rouse himself.

A friendly hand laid upon his shoulder caused him to look up; Don Juan
the ranchero was bending over him.

Don Juan's face wore a look as wretched as his own.  It gave him no
hope; and it was almost mechanically the words escaped his lips--

"My mother? my sister?"

"Your mother is at my house," replied Don Juan.

"And Rosita?"

Don Juan made no reply--the tears were rolling down his cheeks.

"Come, man!" said Carlos, seeing the other in as much need of
consolation as himself; "out with it--let me know the worst!  Is she
dead?"

"No,--no,--no!--I hope not _dead_!"

"Carried off?"

"Alas, yes!"

"By whom?"

"The Indians."

"You are sure by _Indians_?"

As Carlos asked this question, a look of strange meaning glanced from
his eyes.

"Quite sure--I saw them myself--your mother?"

"My mother!  What of her?"

"She is safe.  She met the savages in the doorway, was knocked senseless
by a blow, and saw no more."

"But Rosita?"

"No one saw her; but certainly she was taken away by the Indians."

"You are sure they were _Indians_, Don Juan?"

"Sure of it.  They attacked my house almost at the same time.  They had
previously driven off my cattle, and for that, one of my people was on
the look-out.  He saw them approach; and, before they got near, we were
shut up and ready to defend ourselves.  Finding this, they soon went
off.  Fearing for your people, I stole out as soon as they were gone,
and came here.  When I arrived the roof was blazing, and your mother
lying senseless in the doorway.  Rosita was gone!  _Madre de Dios_! she
was gone!"

And the young ranchero wept afresh.

"Don Juan!" said Carlos, in a firm voice; "you have been a friend--a
brother--to me and mine.  I know you suffer as much as I do.  Let there
be no tears!  See! mine are dried up!  I weep no more--perhaps sleep
not--till Rosita is rescued or revenged.  Let us to business, then!
Tell me all that is known about these Indians--and quick, Don Juan!  I
have a keen appetite for your news!"

The ranchero detailed the various rumours that had been afloat for the
three or four days preceding--as well as the actual occurrences,--how
the Indians had been first seen upon the upper plain; their encounter
with the shepherds and the driving off of the sheep; their appearance in
the valley, and their raid upon his own cattle--for it was his
_ganaderia_ that had suffered--and then the after circumstances already
known to Carlos.

He also informed the latter of the activity shown by the troops; how
they had followed that morning upon the trail of the robbers; how he had
desired to accompany them with some of his people; and how the request
was refused by the Comandante.

"Refused?" exclaimed Carlos, interrogatively.

"Yes," replied Don Juan; "he said we would only hinder the troops!  I
fancy his motive was his chagrin with me.  He does not like me ever
since the fiesta."

"Well! what then?"

"The troops returned but an hour ago.  They report that they followed
the trail as far as the Pecos, where it crossed, striking direct for the
Llano Estacado; and, as the Indians had evidently gone off to the great
plains, it would have been useless to attempt pursuing them farther.  So
they alleged.

"The people," continued Don Juan, "will be only too glad that the
savages have gone away, and will trouble themselves no farther about it.
I have been trying to get up a party to follow them, but not one would
venture.  Hopeless as it was, I intended a pursuit with my own people;
but, thank God! _you_ have come!"

"Ay, pray God it may not be too late to follow their trail.  But no;
only last night at midnight, you say?  There's been neither rain nor
high wind--it will be fresh as dew; and if ever hound--Ha! where's
Cibolo?"

"At my house, the dog is.  He was lost, this morning; we thought he had
been killed or carried off; but at midday my people found him by the
rancho here, covered with mud, and bleeding where he had received the
prick of a spear.  We think the Indians must have taken him along, and
that he escaped from them on the road."

"It is strange enough--Oh! my poor Rosita!--poor lost sister!--where art
thou at this moment?--where?--where?--Shall I ever see you again?--My
God! my God!"

And Carlos once more sunk back into his attitude of despair.

Then suddenly springing to his feet, with clenched fist and flashing
eyes, he cried out--

"Wide though the prairie plains, and faint the trail of these dastardly
robbers, yet keen is the _eye_ of Carlos the cibolero!  I shall find
thee yet--I shall find thee, though it cost me the search of a life.
Fear not, Rosita! fear not, sweet sister!  I come to your rescue!  If
thou art wronged, woe, woe, to the tribe that has done it!"  Then
turning to Don Juan, he continued,--"The night is on--we can do nothing
to-night.  Don Juan!--friend, brother!--bring me to her--to my mother."

There is a wild poetry in the language of grief, and there was poetry in
the words of the cibolero; but these bursts of poetic utterance were
brief, and he again returned to the serious reality of his situation.
Every circumstance that could aid him in his purposed pursuit was
considered and arranged in a sober and practical manner.  His arms and
accoutrements, his horse, all were cared for, so as to be ready by the
earliest hour of light.  His servants, and those of Don Juan, were to
accompany him, and for these horses were also prepared.

Pack-mules, too, with provisions and other necessaries for a long
journey--for Carlos had no intention of returning without the
accomplishment of his sworn purpose--rescue or revenge.  His was no
pursuit to be baffled by slight obstacles.  He was not going to bring
back the report "_no los pudimos alcanzar_" He was resolved to trail the
robbers to the farthest point of the prairies--to follow them to their
fastens, wherever that might be.

Don Juan was with him heart and soul, for the ranchero's interest in the
result was equal to his own--his agony was the same.

Their peons numbered a score--trusty Tagnos all, who loved their
masters, and who, if not warriors by trade, were made so by sympathy and
zeal.

Should they overtake the robbers in time, there would be no fear of the
result.  From all circumstances known, the latter formed but a weak
band.  Had this not been the case, they would never have left the valley
with so trifling a booty.  Could they be overtaken before joining their
tribe, all might yet be well.  They would be compelled to give up both
their plunder and their captive, and, perhaps, pay dearly for the
distress they had occasioned.  Time, therefore, was a most important
consideration, and the pursuers had resolved to take the trail with the
earliest light of the morning.

Carlos slept not--and Don Juan only in short and feverish intervals.
Both sat up in their dresses,--Carlos by the bedside of his mother, who,
still suffering from the effects of the blow, appeared to rave in her
sleep.

The cibolero sat silent, and in deep thought.  He was busied with plans
and conjectures--conjectures as to what tribe of Indians the marauders
could belong to.  Apaches or Comanches they were not.  He had met
parties of both on his return.  They treated him in a friendly manner,
and they said nothing of hostilities against the people of San
Ildefonso.  Besides, no bands of these would have been in such small
force as the late robbers evidently were.  Carlos wished it had been
they.  He knew that in such a case, when it was known that the captive
was _his_ sister, she would be restored to him.  But no; they had
nothing to do with it.  Who then?--the Yutas?  Such was the belief among
the people of the valley, as he had been told by Don Juan.  If so, there
was still a hope--Carlos had traded with a branch of this powerful and
warlike tribe.  He was also on friendly terms with some of its chiefs,
though these were now at war with the more northern settlements.

But the Jicarillas still returned to his mind.  These were Indians of a
cowardly, brutal disposition, and his mortal foes.  They would have
scalped him on sight.  If his sister was _their_ captive, her lot was
hard indeed; and the very thought of such a fate caused the cibolero to
start up with a shudder, and clench his hands in a convulsive effort of
passion.

It was near morning.  The peons were astir and armed.  The horses and
mules were saddled in the patio, and Don Juan had announced that all
were ready.  Carlos stood by the bedside of his mother to take leave.
She beckoned him near.  She was still weak, for blood had flown freely
from her, and her voice was low and feeble.

"My son," said she, as Carlos bent over her, "know you what Indians you
are going to pursue?"

"No, mother," replied Carlos, "but I fear they are our enemies the
Jicarillas."

"Have the Jicarillas _beards on their faces and jewels on their
fingers_?"

"No mother; why do you ask such a question?--you know they have no
beards!  My poor mother!" added he, turning to Don Juan; "this terrible
stroke has taken her senses!"

"Follow the trail, then!" she continued, without noticing the last
remark uttered by Carlos in a whisper; "follow the trail--perhaps it
will guide thee to--" and she whispered the rest into his ear.

"What, mother?" said he, starting, as if at some strange information.
"Dost thou think so?"

"I have some suspicion--only _suspicion_--but follow the trail--it will
guide thee--follow it, and be satisfied!"

"Do not doubt me, mother; I shall be satisfied of _that_."

"One promise before you go.  Be not rash--be prudent."

"Fear not, mother!  I will."

"If it be so--"

"If it be so, mother, you'll soon see me back.  God bless you!--My
blood's on fire--I cannot stay!--God bless you, mother!--Farewell!"

Next minute the train of mounted men, with Don Juan and Carlos at its
head, passed out of the great gate, and took the road that led out from
the valley.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

It was not yet daybreak when the party left the house, but they had not
started too early.  Carlos knew that they could follow the road so far
as the lancers had gone, in the darkness; and it would be light enough
by the time they had got to the point where these had turned back.

Five miles below the house of Don Juan the road forked--one, leading
southward, was that by which Carlos had returned the evening before; the
other, or left fork, led nearly in a direct line towards the Pecos,
where there was a ford.  The left fork had been that taken by the
troopers, as their horse-tracks showed.

It was now day.  They could have followed the trail at a gallop, as it
was a much-travelled and well-known path.  But the eye of the cibolero
was not bent upon this plain trail, but upon the ground on each side of
it, and this double scrutiny caused him to ride more slowly.

On both sides were cattle-tracks.  These were, no doubt, made by the
cattle stolen from Don Juan--in all numbering about fifty.  The cibolero
said they must have passed over the ground two days before.  That would
correspond with the time when they had been taken.

The trackers soon passed the limits of the valley, and entered the plain
through which runs the Pecos.  They were about approaching that stream
in a direct line, and were still two miles from its banks, when the dog
Cibolo, who had been trotting in advance of the party, suddenly turned
to the left, and ran on in that direction.  The keen eye of Carlos
detected a new trail upon which the dog was running, and which parted
from the track of the troopers.  It ran in a direction due north.

What appeared singular both to Carlos and Don Juan was the fact of
Cibolo having taken this new route, as it was not marked by a road or
path of any kind, but merely by the footprints of some animals that had
lately passed over it!

_Had Cibolo gone that way before_?

Carlos dismounted to examine the tracks.

"Four horses and one mule!" he said, speaking to Don Juan.  "Two of the
horses shod on the fore feet only; the other two, with the mule,
barefoot.  All of them mounted--the mule led--perhaps with a pack.

"_No_!" he added, after a little further examination, "it's not a
pack-mule!"

It scarce cost the cibolero five minutes to arrive at these conclusions.
How he did so was a mystery to most of his companions,--perhaps to all,
except the half-blood, Antonio.  And yet he was right in every
particular.

He continued to scrutinise the new trail for some moments longer.

"The time corresponds," said he, still addressing Don Juan.  "They
passed yesterday morning before the dew was dry.  You are sure it was
not midnight when they left your house?"

"Quite sure," replied the ranchero.  "It was still only midnight when I
returned with your mother from the rancho.  I am quite sure of that."

"One more question, Don Juan: How many Indians, think you, were in the
party that made their appearance at your house--few or many?"

"Not many I think.  Two or three only could be heard yelling at once;
but the trees prevented us from seeing them.  I fancy, from their traces
left, that the band was a very small one.  It might be the same that
burned the rancho.  They could have arrived at my house afterwards.
There was time enough."

"I have reason to believe they _were_ the same," said Carlos, still
bending over the hoof-prints, "and _this may be their trail_."

"Think you so?" inquired Don Juan.

"I do.--See--there!  Is this not strange?"

The speaker pointed to the dog, who, meanwhile, had returned to the
spot, and stood whimpering, and showing an evident desire to proceed by
the trace newly discovered!

"Very strange," replied Don Juan.  "He must have travelled it before!"

"Perhaps so," said Carlos.  "But it will not spoil by an hour's keeping.
Let us first see where these valiant troopers have been to.  I want to
know that before I leave this main path.  Let us on, and briskly!"

All spurred their animals into a gentle gallop, the cibolero leading as
before.  As before, also, his eyes swept the ground on both sides in
search of any trail that might diverge from that on which they
travelled.

Now and then cross paths appeared, but these were old.  No horses had
passed recently upon them, and he did not slacken his pace to examine
them.

After a twenty minutes' gallop the party halted upon the bank of the
Pecos, at the ford.  It was plain that the troopers had also halted
there, and turned back without crossing!  But cattle had crossed two
days before--so said the cibolero--and mounted drivers.  The tracks of
both were visible in the mud.  Carlos rode through the shallow water to
examine the other side.  At a glance he saw that no troops had crossed,
but some forty or fifty head of cattle.

After a long and careful examination, not only of the muddy bank, but of
the plain above, he beckoned to Don Juan and the rest to ford the stream
and join him.

When Don Juan came up, the cibolero said to him, in a tone full of
intelligence--

"_Amigo_! you stand a fair chance to recover your cattle."

"Why do you think so?"

"Because their drivers, four in number, have been near this spot not
much over twenty-four hours ago.  The animals, therefore, cannot be far
off."

"But how know you this?"

"Oh, that is plain enough," coolly responded the cibolero.  "The men who
drove your beasts were mounted on the same horses that made yonder
trail."  The speaker indicated the trail which he had halted to examine,
and continued,--"Very probably we'll find the herd among the spurs of
the ceja yonder."

As Carlos said this, he pointed to a number of ragged ridges that from
the brow of the Llano Estacado jutted out into the plain.  They appeared
to be at the distance of some ten miles from the crossing.

"Shall we push on there?" asked Don Juan.

The cibolero did not give an immediate answer.  He had evidently not
decided yet, and was debating in his own mind what course to pursue.

"Yes," he replied, at length, in a solemn and deliberate voice.  "It is
better to be sure.  With all my terrible suspicions, I may be wrong.
_She_ may be wrong.  _The two trails may yet come together_."

The latter part of this was spoken in soliloquy, and, though it reached
the ears of Don Juan, he did not comprehend its meaning.  He was about
to ask his companion for an explanation, when the latter, suddenly
collecting his energies, struck the spurs into his horse, and, calling
to them to follow, galloped off upon the cattle-track.

After a run of ten miles, which was made in less than an hour, the party
entered a large ravine or point of the plain that protruded, like a deep
bay, into the mountain-like side of the high steppe.  As they entered
this, a singular spectacle came under their eyes.  The ravine, near its
bottom, was covered with zopilotes, or black vultures.  Hundreds of them
were perched upon the rocks, or wheeling overhead in the air; and
hundreds of others hopped about upon the plain, flapping their broad
wings as if in full enjoyment.  The coyote, the larger wolf, and the
grizzly bear, were seen moving over the ground, or quarrelling with each
other, though they need not have quarrelled--the repast was plenteous
for all.  Between forty and fifty carcases were strewed over the ground,
which Don Juan and his vaqueros as they drew near recognised as the
carcases of his own cattle.

"I told you so, Don Juan," said Carlos, in a voice now husky with
emotion; "but I did not expect this.  What a deep-laid plan!  They might
have strayed back! and that--oh! horrible villain!  My mother was
right--_it is he! it is he_!"

"Who, Carlos!  What mean you?" inquired Don Juan, wondering at these
strange and incongruous phrases.

"Ask me not now, Don Juan!  Presently I shall tell you all--presently,
but not now; my brain's too hot--my heart is burning: presently--
presently.  The mystery is past--I know all--I had suspicion from the
first--I saw him at the fiesta--I saw his bad ruffian gaze bent upon
her.  Oh, despot!  I'll tear your heart out!  Come, Don Juan!--Antonio--
comrades!--After me on the trail!  It's easily followed.  _I know where
it will lead_--well I know.--On!"

And driving the spur into the flanks of his horse, the cibolero galloped
off in the direction of the crossing.

The wondering troop--Don Juan among the rest--set their animals in
motion, and galloped after.

There was no halt made at the ford.  Carlos dashed his horse through the
water, and the rest imitated his example.  There was no halt either on
arriving at the trace that led northward.  The dog scampered along it,
yelping at intervals; and the troop kept close after his heels.

They had not followed it quite a mile when it suddenly turned at right
angles, and _took the direction of the town_!

Don Juan and the rest expressed surprise, but there was nothing in all
this to surprise the cibolero.  _He_ was expecting that.  The expression
on his face was not that of astonishment.  It was far different--far
more terrible to behold!

His eyes were sunk in their sockets and gleaming with a lurid light, as
if fire was burning within them.  His teeth were firmly set--his lips
white and tightly drawn, as if he was meditating, or had already made,
some desperate resolve.  He scarce looked at the tracks, he needed their
guidance no longer.  _He knew there he was going_!

The trail crossed a muddy arroyo.  The dog sweltered through, and the
red clay adhered to his shaggy coat.  It corresponded with that with
which he had been already besmeared!

Don Juan noticed the circumstance, and pointed it out.

"He has been here before!" said he.

"I know it," replied Carlos; "I know it all--all.  There is no mystery
now.  Patience, amigo!  You shall know all, but now let me _think_.  I
have no time for aught else."

The trail still led in the direction of the town.  It did not re-enter
the valley, but passed over a sloping country to the upper plain, and
then ran nearly parallel with the bluffs.

"Master!" said Antonio, riding up by the side of Carlos, "these are not
the tracks of Indian horses, unless they have stolen them.  Two of them
are _troop_ horses.  I know the _berradura_ well.  They are _officers'
horses_, too--I can tell that from the shoeing."

The cibolero showed no signs of being astonished by this information,
nor made he reply.  He seemed engrossed with his thoughts.

Antonio, thinking he had not been heard or understood, repeated what he
had said.

"Good Antonio!" said the cibolero, turning his eyes on his follower, "do
you think me blind or stupid?"

This was not said angrily.  Antonio understood its meaning, and fell
back among his companions.

On moved the trackers--now at a gallop, now more slowly, for their
animals were by this time somewhat jaded.  On they moved, still keeping
the trail, and still heading straight for the town!

At length they reached a point where a road from the upper plain led by
a zigzag path to the valley below.  It was the same by which Carlos had
ascended to perform his great feat on the day of the fiesta.  At the top
of the descent Carlos ordered the party to halt, and with Don Juan rode
forward to the edge of the projecting cliff--at the very spot where he
had exhibited his skill--the cliff of _Nina Perdida_.

Both drew up when near the edge.  They commanded a full view of the
valley and the town.

"Do you see that building?" inquired the cibolero, pointing to the
detached pile which lay between them and the town.

"The Presidio?"

"The Presidio."

"Yes--what of it?"

"_She is there_!"



CHAPTER THIRTY.

At that moment upon the _azotea_ a man was pacing to and fro.  He was
not a sentinel, though at opposite angles of the building two of these
could be seen who carried carbines--their heads and shoulders just
appearing above the crenated top of the battlement towers.

The man _en promenade_ was an officer, and the part of the azotea _upon_
which he moved was the roof of the officers' quarter, separated from the
rest by a wall of equal height with the parapet.  It was, moreover, a
sacred precinct--not to be disturbed by the tread of common troopers on
ordinary occasions.  It was the "quarterdeck" of the Presidio.

The officer was in full dress, though not on any duty; but a single
glance at the style and cut of his uniform would convince any one that
he was a "dandy soldier," and loved to appear at all times in fine
feathers.  The gold-lace and bright-coloured broad-cloth seemed to
affect him as his rich plumage does the peacock.  Every now and again he
paused in his promenade, glanced down at his lacquered boots, examined
the tournure of his limbs, or feasted his eyes upon the jewels that
studded his delicate white fingers.

He was no beauty withal nor hero either; but that did not prevent him
from indulging in the fancy that he was both--a combination of Mars and
Apollo.

He was a colonel in the Spanish army, however, and Comandante of the
Presidio--for the promenader in question was Vizcarra himself.

Though satisfied with his own appearance, he was evidently not satisfied
about something else.  There was a cloud upon his features that not even
the contemplation of the lacquered boots or lily-white hands could
banish.  Some disagreeable thought was pressing upon his mind, causing
him at intervals to make fitful starts, and look nervously around him.

"Bah! 'twas but a dream!" he muttered to himself.  "Why should I think
of it? 'twas only a dream!"

His eyes were bent downward as he gave expression to these abrupt
phrases, and as he raised them again chance guided his look in the
direction of "La Nina Perdida."  No, it was not chance, for La Nina had
figured in his dream, and his eyes were but following his thoughts.

The moment they rested on the cliff he started back as if some terrible
spectre were before him, and mechanically caught hold of the parapet.
His cheeks suddenly blanched, his jaws fell, and his chest heaved, in
hurried and convulsive breathing!

What can cause these symptoms of strong emotion?  Is it the sight of
yonder horseman standing upon the very pinnacle of the bluff, and
outlined against the pale sky?  What is there in such an appearance to
terrify the Comandante--for terrified he is?  Hear him!

"My God! my God!--it is _he_!  The form of his horse--of himself--just
as he appeared--it is he!  I fear to look at him!  I cannot--"

And the officer averted his face for a moment, covering it with his
hands.

It was but a moment, and again he looked upwards.  Not curiosity, but
the fascination of fear, caused him to look again.  The horseman had
disappeared.  Neither horse nor man--no object of any sort--broke the
line of the bluffs!

"Surely I have been dreaming again?" muttered the still trembling
caitiff.  "Surely I have?  There was no one there, least of all--.  How
could he?  He is hundreds of miles off!  It was an illusion!  Ha! ha!
ha!  What the devil is the matter with my senses, I wonder?  That horrid
dream of last night has bewitched them!  _Carrambo_!  I'll think no more
of it?"

As he said this he resumed his pace more briskly, believing that that
might rid him of his unpleasant reflections.  At every turn, however,
his eyes again sought the bluff, and swept along its edge with a glance
that betokened fear.  But they saw no more of the spectre horseman, and
their owner began to feel at ease again.

A footstep was heard upon the stone steps of the "escalera."  Some one
was ascending to the roof.

The next moment the head and shoulders of a man were visible; and
Captain Roblado stepped out upon the azotea.

The "buenos dias" that passed between him and Vizcarra showed that it
was their first meeting for that day.  In fact, neither had been long
up; for the hour was not yet too late for fashionable sleepers.  Roblado
had just breakfasted, and come out on the azotea to enjoy his Havannah.

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed he, as he lighted the cigar, "what a droll
masquerade it has been!  'Pon my soul!  I can scarce get the paint off;
and my voice, after such yelling, won't recover for a week!  Ha! ha!
Never was maiden wooed and won in such a romantic, roundabout way.
Shepherds attacked--sheep driven off and scattered to the winds--cattle
carried away and killed in regular _battue_--old woman knocked over, and
rancho given to the flames--besides three days of marching and
countermarching, travestying Indian, and whooping till one is hoarse;
and all this trouble for a poor _paisana_--daughter of a reputed witch!
Ha! ha! ha!  It would read like a chapter in some Eastern romance--
Aladdin, for instance--only that the maiden was not rescued by some
process of magic or knight-errantry.  Ha! ha ha!"

This speech of Roblado will disclose what is, perhaps, guessed at
already--that the late incursion of "los barbaros" was neither more nor
less than an affair got up by Vizcarra and himself to cover the
abduction of the cibolero's sister.  The Indians who had harried the
sheep and cattle--who had attacked the hacienda of Don Juan--who had
fired the rancho and carried off Rosita--were Colonel Vizcarra, his
officer Captain Roblado, his sergeant Gomez, and a soldier named Jose--
another minion of his confidence and will.

There were but the four, as that number was deemed sufficient for the
accomplishment of the atrocious deed; and rumour, backed by fear, gave
them the strength of four hundred.  Besides, the fewer in the secret the
better.  This was the prudence or cunning of Roblado.

Most cunningly, too, had they taken their measures.  The game, from
beginning to end, was played with design and execution worthy of a
better cause.  The shepherds were first attacked on the upper plain, to
give certainty to the report that hostile Indians were near.  The
scouting-parties were sent out from the Presidio, and proclamations
issued to the inhabitants to be on their guard--all for effect; and the
further swoop upon the cattle was clear proof of the presence of "los
barbaros" in the valley.  In this foray the fiendish masquers took an
opportunity of "killing two birds with one stone;" for, in addition to
carrying out their general design, they gratified the mean revenge which
they held against the young ranchero.

Their slaughtering his cattle in the ravine had a double object.  First,
the loss it would be to him gave them satisfaction; but their principal
motive was that the animals might not stray back to the settlement.  Had
they done so, after having been captured by Indians, it would have
looked suspicious.  As it was, they hoped that, long before any one
should discover the _battue_, the wolves and buzzard would do their
work; and the bones would only supply food for conjecture.  This was the
more probable, as it was not likely, while the Indian alarm lasted, that
any one would be bold enough to venture that way.  There was no
settlement or road, except Indian trails, leading in that direction.

Even when the final step was taken, and the victim carried off, she was
not brought _directly_ to the Presidio; for even _she_ was to be
hoodwinked.  On the contrary, she was tied upon a mule, led by one of
the ruffians, and permitted to see the way they were going, until they
had reached the point where their trail turned back.  She was then
blinded by a leathern "tapado," and in that state carried to the
Presidio, and within its walls--utterly ignorant of the distance she had
travelled, and the place where she was finally permitted to rest.

Every act in the diabolical drama was conceived with astuteness, and
enacted with a precision which must do credit to the head of Captain
Roblado, if not to his heart.  He was the principal actor in the whole
affair.

Vizcarra had, at first, some scruples about the affair--not on the score
of conscience, but of impracticability and fear of detection.  This
would indeed have done him a serious injury.  The discovery of such a
villainous scheme would have spread like wildfire over the whole
country.  It would have been ruin to him.

Roblado's eloquence, combined with his own vile desires, overruled the
slight opposition of his superior; and, once entered on the affair, the
latter found himself highly amused in carrying it out.  The burlesque
proclamations, the exaggerated stories of Indians, the terror of the
citizens, their encomiums on his own energetic and valorous conduct--all
these were a pleasant relief to the _ennui_ of a barrack life and,
during the several days' visit of "los barbaros," the Comandante and his
captain were never without a theme for mirth and laughter.

So adroitly had they managed the whole matter that, upon the morning
after the final _coup_ of the robbers--the abduction of Rosita--there
was not a soul in the settlement, themselves and their two aides
excepted, that had the slightest suspicion but that real hostile Indians
were the actors!

Yes, there was one other who had a suspicion--only a suspicion--Rosita's
mother.  Even the girl believed herself in the hands of Indians--_if
belief she had_.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

"Ha! ha! ha!  A capital joke, by my honour!" continued Roblado, laughing
as he puffed his cigar.  "It's the only piece of fun I've enjoyed since
we came to this stupid place.  Even in a frontier post I find that one
_may_ have a little amusement if he know how to make it.  Ha! ha! ha!
After all, there was a devilish deal of trouble.  But come, tell me, my
dear Comandante--for you know by this time--in confidence, was it worth
the trouble?"

"I am sorry we have taken it," was the reply, delivered in a serious
tone.

Roblado looked straight in the other's face, and now for the first time
noticed its gloomy expression.  Busied with his cigar, he had not
observed this before.

"Hola!" exclaimed he; "what's the matter, my colonel?  This is not the
look a man should wear who has spent the last twelve hours as pleasantly
as you must have done.  Something amiss?"

"Everything amiss."

"Pray what?  Surely you were with her?"

"But a moment, and that was enough."

"Explain, my dear colonel."

"She is mad!"

"Mad!"

"Having mad!  Her talk terrified me.  I was but too glad to come away,
and leave her to the care of Jose, who waits upon her.  I could not bear
to listen to her strange jabberings.  I assure you, camarado, it robbed
me of all desire to remain."

"Oh," said Roblado, "that's nothing--she'll get over it in a day or so.
She still thinks herself in the hands of the savages who are going to
murder and scalp her!  It may be as well for you to undeceive her of
this as soon as she comes to her senses.  I don't see any harm in
letting _her_ know.  You must do so in the end, and the sooner the
better--you will have the longer time to get her reconciled to it.  Now
that you have her snug within earless and eyeless walls, you can manage
the thing at your leisure.  No one suspects--no one _can_ suspect.  They
are full of the Indians to-day--ha! ha! ha! and 'tis said her inamorato,
Don Juan, talks of getting up a party to pursue them!  Ha! ha!  He'll
not do that--the fellow hasn't influence enough, and nobody cares either
about his cattle or the witch's daughter.  Had it been some one else the
case might have been different.  As it is, there's no fear of discovery,
even were the cibolero himself to make his appearance--"

"Roblado!" cried the Comandante, interrupting him, and speaking in a
deep earnest voice.

"Well?" inquired the captain, regarding Vizcarra with astonishment.

"I have had a dream--a fearful dream; and that--not the ravings of the
girl--it is that is now troubling me.  _Diablos_! a fearful dream!"

"You, Comandante--a valiant soldier--to let a silly dream trouble you!
But come! what was it?  I'm a good interpreter of dreams.  I warrant I
read it to your bettor satisfaction."

"Simple enough it is, then.  I thought myself upon the cliff of La Nina.
I thought that I was alone with Carlos the cibolero!  I thought that he
knew all, and that he had brought me there to punish me--to avenge
_her_.  I had no power to resist, but was led forward to the brink.  I
thought that we closed and struggled for a while; but at length I was
shaken from his grasp, and pushed over the precipice!  I felt myself
falling--falling!  I could see above me the cibolero, with his sister by
his side, and on the extremest point the hideous witch their mother, who
laughed a wild maniac laugh, and clapped her long bony hands!  I felt
myself falling--falling--yet still not reaching the ground; and this
horrible feeling continued for a long, long time--in fact, until the
fearful thought awoke me.  Even then I could scarce believe I had been
dreaming, so palpable was the impression that remained.  Oh, comrade, it
was a dreadful dream!"

"And _but_ a dream; and what signifies--"

"Stay, Roblado!  I have not told you all.  Within the hour--ay, within
the quarter of that time--while I was on this spot thinking over it, I
chanced to look up to the cliff; and yonder, upon the extreme point, was
a horseman clearly outlined against the sky--and that horseman the very
image of the cibolero!  I noted the horse and the seat of the rider,
which I well remember.  I could not trust my eyes to look at him.  I
averted them for a moment--only a moment; and when I looked again he was
gone!  So quickly had he retired, that I was inclined to think it was
only a fancy--that there had been none--and that my dream had produced
the illusion!"

"That is likely enough," said Roblado, desirous of comforting his
companion; "likely enough--nothing more natural.  In the first place,
from where we stand to the top of La Nina is a good five thousand varas
as the crow flies; and for you, at that distance, to distinguish Carlos
the cibolero from any other horseman is a plain impossibility.  In the
second place, Carlos the cibolero is at this moment full five hundred
miles from the tip of my cigar, risking his precious carcase for a
cartload of stinking hides and a few bultos of dried buffalo-beef.  Let
us hope that some of his copper-coloured friends will raise his
hay-coloured hair, which some of our poblanas so much admire.  And now,
my dear Comandante, as to your dream, that is as natural as may be.  It
could hardly be otherwise than that you should have such a dream.  The
remembrance of the cibolero's feat of horsemanship on that very cliff,
and the later affair with the sister, together with the suspicion you
may naturally entertain that Senor Carlos wouldn't be too kind to you if
he knew all and had you in his power--all these things, being in your
thoughts at one time, must come together incongruously in a dream.  The
old woman, too--if she wasn't in your thoughts, she has been in mine
ever since I gave her that knock in the doorway.  Who could forget such
a picture as she then presented?  Ha! ha! ha!"

The brutal villain laughed--not so much from any ludicrous recollection,
as to make the whole thing appear light and trivial in the eyes of his
companion.

"What does it all amount to?" he continued.  "A dream! a simple,
everyday dream!  Come, my dear friend, don't let it remain on your mind
for another instant!"

"I cannot help it, Roblado.  It clings to me like my shadow.  It feels
like a presentiment.  I wish I had left this paisana in her mud hut.  By
Heaven!  I wish she were back there.  I shall not be myself till I have
got rid of her.  I seem to loathe as much as I loved the jabbering
idiot."

"Tut, tut, man! you'll soon change your way of thinking--you'll soon
take a fresh liking--"

"No, Roblado, no!  I'm disgusted--I can't tell why but I _am_.  Would to
God she were off my hands!"

"Oh! that's easy enough, and without hurting anybody.  She can go the
way she came.  It will only be another scene in the masquerade, and no
one will be the wiser.  If you are really in earnest--"

"Roblado!" cried the Comandante, grasping his captain by the arm, "I
never was more in earnest in my life.  Tell me the plan to get her back
without making a noise about it.  Tell me quick, for I cannot bear this
horrid feeling any longer."

"Why, then," began Roblado, "we must have another travestie of Indians--
we must--"

He was suddenly interrupted.  A short, sharp groan escaped from
Vizcarra.  His eyes looked as though about to start from his head.  His
lips grow white, and the perspiration leaped into drops on his forehead!

What could it mean?  Vizcarra stood by the outer edge of the azotea that
commanded a view of the road leading up to the gate of the Presidio.  He
was gazing over the parapet, and pointing with outstretched arm.

Roblado was farther back, near the centre of the azotea.  He sprang
forward, and looked in the direction indicated.  A horseman, covered
with sweat and dust, was galloping up the road.  He was near enough for
Roblado to distinguish his features.  Vizcarra had already distinguished
them.  It was Carlos the cibolero!



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

The announcement made by the cibolero on the bluff startled Don Juan, as
if a shot had passed through him.  Up to this time the simple ranchero
had no thought but that they were on the trail of Indians.  Even the
singular fact of the trail leading back to the valley had not undeceived
him.  He supposed the Indians had made some other and later foray in
that quarter, and that they would hear of them as soon as they should
descend the cliffs.

When Carlos pointed to the Presidio, and said, "She is there!" he
received the announcement at first with surprise, then with incredulity.

Another word from the cibolero, and a few moments' reflection, and his
incredulity vanished.  The terrible truth flashed upon his mind, for he,
too, remembered the conduct of Vizcarra on the day of the fiesta.  His
visit to the rancho and other circumstances now rushed before him,
aiding the conviction that Carlos spoke the truth.

For some moments the lover could scarce give utterance to his thoughts,
so painful were they.  More painful than ever!  Even while under the
belief that his mistress was in the hands of wild Indians he suffered
less.  There was still some hope that, by their strange code in relation
to female captives, she might escape that dreaded fate, until he and
Carlos might come up and rescue her.  But now the time that had
elapsed--Vizcarra's character--O God! it was a terrible thought; and the
young man reeled in his saddle as it crossed his mind.

He rode back a few paces, flung himself from his horse, and staggered to
the ground in the bitterness of his anguish.

Carlos remained on the bluff, still gazing down on the Presidio.  He
seemed to be maturing some plan.  He could see the sentries on the
battlements, the troopers lounging around the walls in their dark blue
and crimson uniforms.  He could even hear the call of the cavalry bugle,
as its clear echoes came dancing along the cliffs.  He could see the
figure of a man--an officer--pacing to and fro on the azotea, and he
could perceive that the latter had halted, and was observing him.

It was at this very moment that Vizcarra had caught sight of the
horseman on the bluff--the sight that had so terrified him, and which
indeed was no illusion.

"Can it be that fiend himself?" thought Carlos, regarding the officer
for a moment.  "Quite likely it is he.  Oh! that he were within range of
my rifle!  Patience--patience!  I will yet have my revenge!"

And as the speaker muttered these words, he reined back from the bluff
and rejoined his companion.

A consultation was now held as to what would be the best mode of
proceeding.  Antonio was called to their council, and to him Carlos
declared his belief that his sister was a captive within the Presidio.
It was telling Antonio what he had already divined.  The _mestizo_ had
been to the fiesta as well as his master, and his keen eyes had been
busy on that day.  He, too, had observed the conduct of Vizcarra; and
long before their halt he had arrived at an elucidation of the many
mysteries that marked the late Indian incursion.  He knew all--his
master might have saved words in telling him.

Neither words nor time were wasted.  The hearts of both brother and
lover were beating too hurriedly for that.  Perhaps at that moment the
object of their affection was in peril,--perhaps struggling with her
ruffian abductor!  Their timely arrival might save her!

These considerations took precedence of all plans; in fact, there was no
plan they could adopt, to remain concealed--to skulk about the place--to
wait for opportunity--what opportunity?  They might spend days in
fruitless waiting.  Days!--hours--even minutes would be too long.  Not a
moment was to be lost before some action must be taken.

And what action?  They could think of none--none but open action.  What!
dare a man not claim his own sister?  Demand her restoration?

But the thought of refusal--the thought of subterfuge--in fact, the
certainty that such would be the result--quite terrified them both.

And yet how else could they act?  They would at least give publicity to
the atrocious deed; that might serve them.  There would be sympathy in
their favour--perhaps more.  Perhaps the people, slaves as they were,
might surround the Presidio, and clamour loudly;--in some way the
captive might be rescued.  Such were their hurried reflections.

"If not rescued," said Carlos, grinding his teeth together, "she shall
be revenged.  Though the _garrota_ press my throat, he shall not live if
she be dishonoured.  I swear it!"

"I echo the oath!" cried Don Juan, grasping the hilt of his _machete_.

"Masters! dear masters!" said Antonio, "you both know I am not a coward.
I shall aid you with my arm or my life; but it is a terrible business.
Let us have caution, or we fail.  Let us be prudent!"

"True, we must be prudent.  I have already promised that to my mother;
but how, comrades?--how!  In what does prudence consist?--to wait and
watch, while she--oh!"

All three were silent for a while.  None of them could think of a
feasible plan to be pursued.

The situation was, indeed, a most difficult one.  There was the
Presidio, and within its walls--perhaps in some dark chamber--the
cibolero well knew his sister was a captive; but under such peculiar
circumstances that her release would be a most difficult enterprise.

In the first place, the villain who held her would assuredly deny that
she was there.  To have released her would be an acknowledgment of his
guilt.  What proof of it could Carlos give?  The soldiers of the
garrison, no doubt, were ignorant of the whole transaction--with the
exception of the two or three miscreants who had acted as aides.  Were
the cibolero to assert such a thing in the town he would be laughed at--
no doubt arrested and punished.  Even could he offer proofs, what
authority was there to help him to justice?  The military was the law of
the place, and the little show of civic authority that existed would be
more disposed to take sides against him than in his favour.  He could
expect no justice from any quarter.  All the proof of his accusation
would rest only on such facts as would neither be understood nor
regarded by those to whom he might appeal.  The return trail would be
easily accounted for by Vizcarra--if he should deign to take so much
trouble--and the accusation of Carlos would be scouted as the fancy of a
madman.  No one would give credence to it.  The very atrociousness of
the deed rendered it incredible!

Carlos and his companions were aware of all these things.  They had no
hope of help from any quarter.  There was no authority that could give
them aid or redress.

The cibolero, who had remained for a while silent and thoughtful, at
length spoke out.  His tone was altered.  He seemed to have conceived
some plan that held out a hope.

"Comrades!" he said, "I can think of nothing but an open demand, and
that must be made within the hour.  I cannot live another hour without
attempting her rescue--another hour, and what we dread--No! within the
hour it must be.  I have formed a sort of plan--it may not be the most
prudent--but there is no time for reflection.  Hear it."

"Go on!"

"It will be of no use our appearing before the gate of the Presidio in
full force.  There are hundreds of soldiers within the walls, and our
twenty Tagnos, though brave as lions, would be of no service in such an
unequal fight.  I shall go alone."

"Alone?"

"Yes; I trust to chance for an interview with _him_.  If I can get that,
it is all I want.  He is her gaoler; and when the gaoler sleeps, the
captive may be freed.  He shall _sleep then_."

The last words were uttered in a significant tone, while the speaker
placed his hand mechanically upon the handle of a large knife that was
stuck in his waist-belt.

"_He shall sleep_ then!" he repeated; "and soon, if Fate favours me.
For the rest I care not: I am too desperate.  If she be dishonoured I
care not to live, but I shall have full revenge!"

"But how will you obtain an interview?" suggested Don Juan.  "He will
not give _you_ one.  Would it not be better to disguise yourself?  There
would be more chance of seeing him that way?"

"No!  I am not easily disguised, with my light hair and skin.  Besides,
it would cost too much time.  Trust me, I will not be rash.  I have a
plan by which I hope to get near him--to see him, at all events.  If it
fail, I intend to make no demonstration for the present.  None of the
wretches shall know my real errand.  Afterwards I may do as you advise,
but now I cannot wait.  I must on to the work.  I believe it is he that
is at this moment pacing yonder azotea, and that is why I cannot wait,
Don Juan.  If it be me--"

"But what shall we do?" asked Don Juan.  "Can we not assist in any way?"

"Yes, perhaps in my escape.  Come on, I shall place you.  Come on
quickly.  Moments are days.  My brain's on fire.  Come on!"

So saying, the cibolero leaped into his saddle and struck rapidly down
the precipitous path that led to the valley.

From the point where the road touched the valley bottom, for more than a
mile in the direction of the Presidio, it ran through a thick growth of
low trees and bushes forming a "chapparal," difficult to pass through,
except by following the road itself.

But there were several cattle-paths through the thicket, by which it
might be traversed; and these were known to Antonio the half-blood, who
had formerly lived in this neighbourhood.  By one of those a party of
mounted men might approach within half-a-mile of the Presidio without
attracting the observation of the sentries upon the walls.  To this
point, then, Antonio was directed to guide the party; and in due time
they arrived near the edge of the jungle, where, at the command of
Carlos, all dismounted keeping themselves and their horses under cover
of the bushes.

"Now," said the cibolero, speaking to Don Juan, "remain here.  If I
escape, I shall gallop direct to this point.  If I lose my horse, you
shall see me afoot all the same.  For such a short stretch I can run
like a deer: I shall not be overtaken.  When I return I shall tell you
how to act.

"See!  Don Juan!" he continued, grasping the ranchero by the arm, and
drawing him forward to the edge of the chapparal.  "It is he! by Heaven,
it is he!"

Carlos pointed to the azotea of the Presidio, where the head and
shoulders of a man were seen above the line of the parapet.

"It is the Comandante himself!" said Don Juan, also recognising him.

"Enough!  I have no time for more talk," cried the cibolero.  "Now or
never!  If I return, you shall know what to do.  If not, I am taken or
killed.  But stay here.  Stay till late in the night; I may still
escape.  Their prisons are not too strong; besides, I carry this gold.
It may help me.  No more.  Adios! true friend, adios!"

With a grasp of the ranchero's hand, Carlos leaped back to his saddle,
and rode off.

He did not go in the direction of the Presidio, as that would have
discovered him too soon.  But a path that led through the chapparal
would bring him out on the main road that ran up to the front gate, and
this path he took.  Antonio guided him to the edge of the timber, and
then returned to the rest.

Carlos, once on the road, spurred his horse into gallop, and dashed
boldly forward to the great gate of the Presidio.  The dog Cibolo
followed, keeping close up to the heels of his horse.



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

"By the Virgin, it _is_ he!" exclaimed Roblado, with a look of
astonishment and alarm.  "The fellow himself, as I live!"

"I knew it!--I knew it!" shrieked Vizcarra.  "I saw him on the cliff: it
was no vision!"

"Where can he have come from?  In the name of all the saints, where has
the fellow--"

"Roblado, I must go below!  I must go in, I will not stay to meet him!
I _cannot_!"

"Nay, colonel, better let him speak with us.  He has seen and recognised
you already.  If you appear to shun him, it will arouse suspicion.  He
has come to ask our help to pursue the Indians; and that's his errand, I
warrant you!"

"Do you think so?" inquired Vizcarra, partially recovering his
self-possession at this conjecture.

"No doubt of it!  What else?  He can have no suspicion of the truth.
How is it possible he could, unless he were a witch, like his mother?
Stay where you are, and let us hear what he has got to say.  Of course,
you can talk to him from the azotea, while he remains below.  If he show
any signs of being insolent, as he has already been to both of us, let
us have him arrested, and cooled a few hours in the calabozo.  I hope
the fellow will give us an excuse for it, for I haven't forgotten his
impudence at the fiesta."

"You are right, Roblado; I shall stay and heur him.  It will be better,
I think, and will allay any suspicion.  But, as you say, he can have
none!"

"On the contrary, by your giving him the aid he is about to ask you for,
you may put him entirely off the scent--make him your friend, in fact.
Ha! ha!"

The idea was plausible, and pleased Vizcarra.  He at once determined to
act upon it.

This conversation had been hurriedly carried on, and lasted but a few
moments--from the time the approaching horseman had been first seen,
until he drew up under the wall.

For the last two hundred yards he had ridden slowly, and with an air of
apparent respect--as though he feared it might be deemed rude to
approach the place of power by any swaggering exhibition of
horsemanship.  On his fine features traces of grief might be observed,
but not one sign of the feeling that was at that moment uppermost in his
heart.

As he drew near, he raised his sombrero in a respectful salute to the
two officers, whose heads and shoulders were just visible over the
parapet; and having arrived within a dozen paces of the wall, he reined
up, and, taking off his hat again, waited to be addressed.

"What is your business?" demanded Roblado.

"Cavalleros!  I wish to speak with the Comandante."

This was delivered in the tone of one who is soon to ask a favour.  It
gave confidence to Vizcarra, as well as to the bolder villain--who,
notwithstanding all his assurances to the contrary, had still some
secret misgivings about the cibolero's errand.  Now, however, it was
clear that his first conjecture was correct; Carlos had come to solicit
their assistance.

"I am he!" answered Vizcarra, now quite recovered from his fright, "I am
the Comandante.  What have you to communicate, my man?"

"Your excellency, I have a favour to ask;" and the cibolero again
saluted with an humble bow.

"I told you so," whispered Roblado to his superior.  "All safe, my
colonel."

"Well, my good fellow," replied Vizcarra, in his usual haughty and
patronising manner, "let me hear it.  If not unreasonable--"

"Your excellency, it is a very heavy favour I would ask, but I hope not
unreasonable.  I am sure that, if it do not interfere with your manifold
duties, you will not refuse to grant it, as the interest and trouble you
have already taken in the cause are but too well-known."

"Told you so," muttered Roblado a second time.

"Speak out, man!" said Vizcarra, encouragingly; "I can only give an
answer when I have heard your request."

"It is this, your excellency.  I am but a poor cibolero."

"You are Carlos the cibolero!  I know you."

"Yes, your excellency, we have met--at the fiesta of San Juan--"

"Yes, yes!  I recollect your splendid horsemanship."

"Your excellency is kind to call it so.  It does not avail me now.  I am
in great trouble!"

"What has befallen?  Speak out, man."  Both Vizcarra and Roblado guessed
the purport of the cibolero's request.  They desired that it should be
heard by the few soldiers lounging about the gate and for that reason
they spoke in a loud tone themselves, anxious that their petitioner
might do the same.

Not to oblige them, but for reasons of his own, Carlos replied in a loud
voice.  He, too, wished the soldiers, but more particularly the sentry
at the gate, to hear what passed between himself and the officers.
"Well, your excellency," replied he, "I live in a poor rancho, the last
in the settlement, with my old mother and sister.  The night before last
it was attacked by a party of Indians--my mother left for dead--the
rancho set on fire--and my sister carried off!"

"I have heard of all this, my friend,--nay, more, I have myself been out
in pursuit of the savages."

"I know it, your excellency.  I was absent on the Plains, and only
returned last night.  I have heard that your excellency was prompt in
pursuing the savages, and I feel grateful."

"No need of that; I only performed my duty.  I regret the occurrence,
and sympathise with you; but the villains have got clear off, and there
is no hope of bringing them to punishment just now.  Perhaps some other
time--when the garrison here is strengthened--I shall make an incursion
into their country, and then your sister may be recovered."

So completely had Vizcarra been deceived by the cibolero's manner, that
his confidence and coolness had returned, and any one knowing nothing
more of the affair than could be gathered from that conversation would
have certainly been deceived by him.  This dissimulation both in speech
and manner appeared perfect.  By the keen eye of Carlos, however--with
his knowledge of the true situation--the tremor of the speaker's lips,
slight as it was--his uneasy glance--and an occasional hesitancy in his
speech, were all observed.  Though Carlos was deceiving _him_, _he_ was
not deceiving Carlos.

"What favour were you going to ask?" he inquired, after he had delivered
his hopeful promise.

"This, your excellency; that you would allow your troops to go once more
on the trail of the robbers, either under your own command--which I
would much like--or one of your brave officers."  Roblado felt
flattered.  "I would act as guide, your excellency.  There is not a spot
within two hundred miles I am not acquainted with, as well as I am with
this valley; and though I should not say it, I assure your excellency, I
can follow an Indian trail with any hunter on the Plains.  If your
excellency will but send the troop, I promise you I shall guide them to
the robbers, or lose my reputation.  I can follow their trail _wherever
it may lead_."

"Oh! you could, indeed?" said Vizcarra, exchanging a significant glance
with Roblado, while both exhibited evident symptoms of uneasiness.

"Yes, your excellency, anywhere."

"It would be impossible," said Roblado.  "It is now two days old;
besides, _we_ followed it beyond the Pecos, and we have no doubt the
robbers are by this time far out of reach, of any pursuit.  It would be
quite useless to attempt such a thing."

"Cavalleros!"--Carlos addressed himself to both--"I assure you I could
find them.  They are not so far off."

Both the Comandante and his captain started, and visibly turned pale.
The cibolero did not affect to notice this.

"Nonsense! my good fellow!" stammered Roblado; "they are--at least--
hundreds of miles off by this--away over the Staked Plain--or to--to the
mountains."

"Pardon me, captain, for differing with you; but I believe I know these
Indians--I know to what tribe they belong."

"What tribe?" simultaneously inquired the officers, both with an
earnestness of manner and a slight trepidation in their voices; "what
tribe?--Were they not Yutas?"

"No," answered the cibolero, while he observed the continued confusion
of his questioners.

"Who, then?"

"I believe," replied Carlos, "they were _not_ Yutas--more likely my
sworn foes, the Jicarillas."

"Quite possible!" assented both in a breath, and evidently relieved at
the enunciation.

"Quite possible!" repeated Roblado.  "From the description given us by
the people who saw them, we had fancied they were the Yutas.  It may be
a mistake, however.  The people were so affrighted, they could tell but
little about them.  Besides, the Indians were only seen in the night."

"Why think you they are the Jicarillas?" asked the Comandante, once more
breathing freely.

"Partly because there were so few of them," replied Carlos.  "Had they
been Yutas--"

"But they were not so few.  The shepherds report a large band.  They
have carried off immense numbers of cattle.  There must have been a
considerable force of them, else they would not have ventured into the
valley--that is certain."

"I am convinced, your excellency, there could not have been many.  A
small troop of your brave soldiers would be enough to bring back both
them and their booty."

Here the lounging lanzeros erected their dwarfish bodies, and
endeavoured to look taller.

"_If_ they were Jicarillas," continued Carlos, "I should not need to
follow their trail.  They are _not_ in the direction of the Llano.  If
they have gone that way, it was to mislead you in the pursuit.  I know
where they are at this moment--in the mountains."

"Ha! you think they are in the mountains?"

"I am sure of it; and not fifty miles from here.  If your excellency
would but send a troop, I could guide it direct to the spot, and without
following the trail they have taken out of the valley--which I believe
was only a false one."

The Comandante and Roblado drew back from the parapet, and for some
minutes talked together in a low tone.

"It would look well," muttered Roblado; "in fact, the very thing you
want.  The trump cards seem to drop right into your hands.  You send a
force at the _request_ of this fellow, who is a nobody here.  You do him
a service, and yourself at the same time.  It will tell well, I warrant
you."

"But for him to act as guide?"

"Let him!  So much the better--that will satisfy all parties.  He won't
find his Jicarillas,--ha! ha ha!--of course; but let the fool have his
whim!"

"But suppose, camarado, he falls upon _our_ trail?--the cattle?"

"He is not going in that direction; besides, if he did, we are not bound
to follow such trails as he may choose for us; but he has said he is not
going that way--he don't intend to follow a trail.  He knows some nest
of these Jicarillas in the mountains,--like enough; and to rout them--
there's a bit of glory for some one.  A few scalps would look well over
the gate.  It hasn't had a fresh ornament of that sort since we've been
here!  What say you?  It's but a fifty-mile ride."

"I have no objection to the thing--it _would_ look well; but I shall not
go myself.  I don't like being along with the fellow out there or
anywhere else--you can understand that feeling, I suppose?"

Here the Comandante looked significantly at his companion.

"Oh! certainly--certainly," replied the latter.

"_You_ may take the troop; or, if you are not inclined, send Garcia or
the sergeant with them."

"I'll go myself," replied Roblado.  "It will be safer.  Should the
cibolero incline to follow certain trails, I can lead him away from
them, or refuse--yes it will be better for me to go myself.  By my soul!
I want to have a brush with these redskins.  I hope to bring back some
`hair,' as they say.  Ha ha! ha!"

"When would you start?"

"Instantly--the sooner the better.  That will be more agreeable to all
parties, and will prove our promptitude and patriotism.  Ha! ha! ha!"

"You had better give the sergeant his orders to get the men ready, while
I make our cibolero happy."

Roblado hastened down from the azotea, and the next moment the bugle was
heard sounding "boots and saddles."



CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

During the conversation that had taken place the cibolero sat,
motionless upon his horse where he had first halted.  The two officers
were no longer in view, as they had stepped back upon the azotea, and
the high parapet concealed them.  But Carlos guessed the object of their
temporary retirement, and waited patiently.

The group of soldiers, lounging in the gateway, and scanning him and his
horse, now amounted to thirty or forty men; but the bugle, sounding the
well-known call, summoned them off to the stables, and the sentry alone
remained by the gate.  Both he and the soldiers, having overheard the
last conversation, guessed the object of the summons.  Carlos felt
assured that his request was about to be granted, though as yet the
Comandante had not told him.

Up to that moment the cibolero had conceived no fixed plan of action.
How could he, where so much depended on chance?

Only one idea was before his mind that could be called definite--that
was _to get Vizcarra alone_.  If but for a single minute, it would
suffice.

Entreaty, he felt, would be idle, and might waste time and end in his
own defeat and death.  A minute would be enough for vengeance; and with
the thoughts of his sister's ruin fresh on his mind, he was burning for
this.  To anything after he scarce gave a thought.  For escape, he
trusted to chance and his own superior energy.

Up to that moment, then, he had conceived no fixed plan of action.  It
had just occurred to him that the Comandante himself might lead the
party going out.  If so he would take no immediate step.  While acting
as guide, his opportunity would be excellent--not only for destroying
his enemy, but for his own escape.  Once on the wide plains, he would
have no fear of ten times the number of lancers.  His true steed would
carry him far beyond their reach.

The troop was going.  The bugle told him so.  Would Vizcarra go with it?
That was the question that now engrossed his thoughts, as he sat
immobile on his horse, regarding with anxious look the line of the
parapet above.

Once more the hated face appeared over the wall--this time to announce
what the Comandante believed would be glad news to his wretched
petitioner.  With all the pompous importance of one who grants a great
favour he announced it.

A gleam of joy shot over the features of the cibolero--not at the
announcement, though Vizcarra thought so; but at his observation of the
fact that the latter seemed to be now _alone upon the azotea_.
Roblado's face was not above the wall.

"It is exceedingly gracious of your excellency to grant this favour to
an humble individual like myself.  I know not how to thank you."

"No thanks--no thanks: an officer of his Catholic Majesty wants no
thanks for doing his duty."

As the Comandante said this, he waved his hand with proud dignity, and
seemed about to retire backward.  Carlos interrupted his intention by
putting a question: "Am I to have the honour of acting as guide to your
excellency?"

"No; I do not go myself on this expedition; but my best officer, Captain
Roblado, will lead it.  He is now getting ready.  You may wait for him."

As Vizcarra said this, he turned abruptly away from the wall, and
continued his promenade along the azotea.  No doubt he felt ill at ease
in a _tete-a-tete_ with the cibolero, and was glad to end it.  Why he
had condescended to give all this information need not be inquired into;
but it was just what the cibolero desired to know.

The latter saw that the time was come--not a moment was to be lost, and,
quick as thought, he resolved himself for action.

Up to this moment he had remained in his saddle.  His rifle--its butt
resting in the stirrup, its barrel extending up to his shoulder--had
been seen by no one.  The "_armas de aqua_" covering his legs, and the
serape his shoulders, had completely concealed it.  In addition to this,
his sharp hunting-knife, strapped along his left thigh, escaped
observation under the hanging corner of the serape.  These were his only
weapons.

During the short conversation between the Comandante and Roblado he had
not been idle, though apparently so.  He had made a full reconnaissance
of the walls.  He saw that out of the saguan, or gateway, an escalera of
stone steps led up to the azotea.  This communication was intended for
the soldiers, when any duty required them to mount to the roof; but
Carlos knew that there was another escalera, by which the officers
ascended: and although he had never been inside the Presidio, he rightly
conjectured that this was at the adjacent end of the building.  He had
observed, too, that but one sentry was posted at the gate, and that the
stone banquette, inside the saguan, used as a lounging-place by the
guard, was at the moment unoccupied.  The guard were either inside the
house, or had strayed away to their quarters.  In fact, the discipline
of the place was of the loosest kind.  Vizcarra, though a dandy himself,
was no martinet with his men.  His time was too much taken up with his
own pleasures to allow him to care for aught else.

All these points had passed under the keen observation of the cibolero
before Vizcarra returned to announce his intention of sending the troop.
He had scarce parted out of sight the second time ere the former had
taken his measures.

Silently dismounting from his horse, Carlos left the animal standing
where he had halted him.  He did not fasten him to either rail or post,
but simply hooked the bridle-rein over the "horn" of the saddle.  He
know that his well-trained steed would await him there.

His rifle he still carried under his serape, though the butt was now
visible below the edge, pressed closely against the calf of his leg.  In
this way he walked forward to the gate.

One doubt troubled him--would the sentry permit him to pass in?  If not,
the sentry must die!

This resolve was quickly made; and the cibolero under his serape kept
his grasp on the handle of his hunting-knife as he approached the gate.

The attempt was made to pass through.  Fortunately for Carlos, and for
the sentry as well, it was successful.  The latter--a slouching,
careless fellow--had heard the late conversation, and had no suspicion
of the other's design.  He made some feeble opposition, notwithstanding;
but Carlos hastily replied that he had something to say to the
Comandante, who had beckoned him up to the azotea.  This but half
satisfied the fellow, who, however, reluctantly allowed him to pass.

Once inside, Carlos sprang to the steps, and glided up with the stealthy
silent tread of a cat.  So little noise had his moccasins made upon the
stones, that, when he arrived upon the roof, its occupant--although
standing but six feet from the head of the escalera--was not aware of
his presence!

There was he--Vizcarra himself--the despot--the despoiler--the violator
of a sister's innocence and honour--there was he within six feet of the
avenging brother--six feet from the muzzle of his ready rifle, and still
ignorant of the terrible situation!  His face was turned in an opposite
direction--he saw not his peril.

The glance of the cibolero rested upon him but an instant, and then
swept the walls to ascertain if any one was above.  He knew there were
two sentries on the towers.  They were not visible--they were on the
outer walls and could not be seen from Carlos's position.  No one else
was above.  His enemy alone was there, and his glance again rested upon
him.

Carlos could have sent the bullet into his back, and such a thought
crossed his mind, but was gone in an instant.  He had come to take the
man's life, but not in that manner.  Even prudence suggested a better
plan.  His knife would be more silent, and afford him a safer chance of
escape when the deed was done!  With this idea, he brought the butt of
his rifle gently to the ground, and rested its barrel against the
parapet.  The iron coming in contact with the stone wall gave a tiny
clink.  Slight as it was, it reached the ear of the Comandante, who
wheeled suddenly round, and started at the sight of the intruder.

At first he exhibited anger, but the countenance of the cibolero, that
had undergone a complete metamorphosis during the short interval, soon
changed his anger into alarm.

"How dare you intrude, sir?--how dare--"

"Not so loud, colonel!--not so loud--you will be heard!"

The low husky voice, and the firm tone of command, in which they were
uttered, terrified the cowardly wretch to whom these words were
addressed.  He saw that the man who stood before him bore in his face
and attitude the expression of desperate and irresistible resolve, that
plainly said, "Disobey, and you are a dead man!"  This expression was
heightened by the gleaming blade of a long knife, whose haft was firmly
grasped by the hand of the cibolero.

At sight of those demonstrations, Vizcarra turned white with terror.  He
now comprehended what was meant.  The asking for the troop had been but
a subterfuge to get near his own person!  The cibolero had tracked him;
his guilt was known, and the brother was now come to demand redress or
have vengeance!  The horrors of his night-dream returned, now mingling
with the horrors of the fearful reality before him.

He scarce knew what to say--he could scarce speak.  He looked wildly
around in hopes of seeing some help.  Not a face or form was in sight--
nothing but the grey walls, and before him the frowning face of his
terrible antagonist.  He would have called for help; but that face--that
angry attitude--told him that the shout would be his last.  He gasped
out at length--

"What want you?"

"_I want my sister_!"

"Your sister?"

"My sister!"

"Carlos--I know not--she is not here--I--"

"Liar! she is within these walls.  See! yonder the dog howls by the
door.  Why is that?"

Carlos pointed to a door in the lower part of the building, where the
dog Cibolo was at that moment seen, whining and making other
demonstrations, as if he wanted to get inside!  A soldier was
endeavouring to drive him off.

Vizcarra looked mechanically as directed.  He saw the dog.  He saw the
soldier too; but dared not make a signal to him.  The keen blade was
gleaming before his eyes.  The question of the cibolero was repeated.

"Why is that?"

"I--I--know not--"

"Liar again!  She has gone in by that door.  Where is she now?  Quick,
tell me!"

"I declare, I know not.  Believe me--"

"False villain! she is here.  I have tracked you through all your
paths--your tricks have not served you.  Deny her once more, and this to
your heart.  She is here!--Where--where--I say?"

"Oh! do not murder me.  I shall tell all.  She--she--is--here.  I swear
I have not wronged her; I swear I have not--"

"Here, ruffian--stand at this point--close to the wall here.--Quick!"

The cibolero had indicated a spot from which part of the patio, or
courtyard, was visible.  His command was instantly obeyed, for the
craven Comandante saw that certain death was the alternative.

"Now give orders that she be brought forth!  You know to whom she is
intrusted.  Be cool and calm, do you hear?  Any sign to your minions,
either word or gesture, and this knife will pass through your ribs!
Now!"

"O my God!--my God!--it would ruin me--all would know--ruin--ruin--I
pray you--have mercy--have patience!--She shall be restored to you--I
swear it--this very night!"

"This very moment, villain!  Quick--proceed--all those who know--let her
be brought forth!--quick--I am on fire--one moment more--"

"O Heaven! you will murder me--a moment--Stay!--Ha!"

The last exclamation was in a different tone from the rest.  It was a
shout of exultation--of triumph!

The face of the Comandante was turned towards the escalera by which
Carlos had ascended, while that of the latter looked in the opposite
direction.  Carlos, therefore, did not perceive that a third person had
reached the roof, until he felt his upraised right arm grasped by a
strong hand, and held back!  He wrenched his arm free--turning as he did
so--when he found himself face to face with a man whom he recognised as
the Lieutenant Garcia.

"I have no quarrel with _you_," cried the cibolero; "keep away from me."

The officer, without saying a word, had drawn a pistol, and was
levelling it at his head.  Carlos rushed upon him.

The report rang, and for a moment the smoke shrouded both Garcia and the
cibolero.  One was heard to fall heavily on the tiles, and the next
moment the other sprang from the cloud evidently unhurt.

It was the cibolero who came forth; and his knife, still in his grasp,
was reeking with blood!

He rushed forward towards the spot where he had parted with the
Comandante, but the latter was gone!  He was some distance off on the
azotea, and running towards the private stairway.

Carlos saw at a glance he could not overtake him before he should reach
the escalera, and make his descent; and to follow him below would now be
useless, for the shot had given the alarm.

There was a moment of despair,--a short moment; for in the next a bright
thought rushed into the mind of the cibolero--he remembered his rifle.
There might be still time to overtake the Comandante with that.

He seized the weapon, and, springing beyond the circle of smoke, raised
it to his shoulder.

Vizcarra had reached the stairway, and was already sinking into its
trap-like entrance.  His head and shoulders alone appeared above the
line of wall, when some half-involuntary thought induced him to stop and
look back.  The coward had partly got over his fright now that he had
arrived within reach of succour, and he glanced back from a feeling of
curiosity, to see if the struggle between Garcia and the cibolero was
yet over.  He meant to stop only for an instant, but just as he turned
his head the rifle cracked, and the bullet sent him tumbling to the
bottom of the escalera!

The cibolero saw that his shot had taken effect--he saw, moreover, that
the other was dead--he heard the wild shouts of vengeance from below;
and he knew that unless he could escape by flight he would be surrounded
and pierced by an hundred lances.

His first thought was to descend by the escalera, up which he had come.
The other way only led into the patio, already filling with men.  He
leaped over the body of Garcia, and ran toward the stairway.

A crowd of armed men was coming up.  His escape was cut off!

Again he crossed the dead body, and, running along the azotea, sprang
upon the outer parapet and looked below.

It was a fearful leap to take, but there was no other hope of escaping.
Several lancers had reached the roof, and were charging forward with
their pointed weapons.  Already carbines were ringing, and bullets
whistling about his ears.  It was no time to hesitate.  His eye fell
upon his brave horse, as he stood proudly curving his neck and champing
the bit, "Thank Heaven, he is yet alive!"

Nerved by the sight, Carlos dropped down from the wall, and reached the
ground without injury.  A shrill whistle brought his steed to his side,
and the next moment the cibolero had sprung into the saddle, and was
galloping out into the open plain!

Bullets hissed after, and men mounted in hot pursuit; but before they
could spur their horses out of the gateway, Carlos had reached the edge
of the chapparal, and disappeared under the leafy screen of its thick
foliage.

A body of lancers, with Roblado and Gomez at their head, rode after.  As
they approached the edge of the chapparal, to their astonishment a score
of heads appeared above the bushes, and a wild yell hailed their
advance!

"Indios bravos! los barbaros!" cried the lancers, halting, while some of
them wheeled back in alarm.

A general halt was made, and the pursuers waited until reinforcements
should come up.  The whole garrison turned out, and the chapparal was
surrounded, and at length entered.  But no Indians could be found,
though the tracks of their animals led through the thicket in every
direction.

After beating about for several hours, Roblado and his troopers returned
to the Presidio.



CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

Garcia was dead.  Vizcarra was not, though, when taken up from where he
had fallen, he looked like one who had not long to live, and behaved
like one who was afraid to die.  His face was covered with blood, and
his cheek showed the scar of a shot.  He was alive however,--moaning and
mumbling.  Fine talking was out of the question, for several of his
teeth had been carried away by the bullet.

His wound was a mere face wound.  There was not the slightest danger;
but the "medico" of the place, a young practitioner, was not
sufficiently master of his art to give him that assurance, and for some
hours Vizcarra remained in anything but blissful ignorance of his fate.

The garrison doctor had died but a short time before, and his place was
not yet supplied.

A scene of excitement for the rest of that day was the Presidio--not
less so the town.  The whole settlement was roused by the astounding
news, which spread like a prairie fire throughout the length and breadth
of the valley.

It travelled in two different shapes.  One was, that the settlement was
surrounded by "los barbaros," headed by Carlos the cibolero; that they
must be in great numbers, since they had made an open attack upon the
military stronghold itself; but that they had been beaten off by the
valiant soldiers after a desperate conflict, in which many were killed
on both sides; that the officers were all killed, including the
Comandante; and that another attack might be looked for that night,
which would most likely be directed against the town!  This was the
first shape of the "novedades."

Another rumour had it that the "Indios mansos" had revolted; that they
were headed by Carlos the cibolero; that they had made an unsuccessful
attempt upon the Presidio, in which, as before, the valiant soldiers had
repulsed them with great loss on both sides, including the Comandante
and his officers: that this was but the first outbreak of a great
conspiracy, which extended to all the Tagnos of the settlement, and that
no doubt the attack would be renewed that night!

To those who reflected, both forms of the rumour were incomprehensible.
Why should "Indios bravos" attack the Presidio before proceeding against
the more defenceless town as well as the several rich haciendas?  And
how could Carlos the cibolero be their leader?  Why should he of all
men,--he who had just suffered at the hands of the savages?  It was
well-known through the settlement that it was the cibolero's sister who
had been carried off.  The idea of an Indian incursion, with him at the
head of it, seemed too improbable.

Then, again, as to the conspiracy and revolt.  Why the tame Indians were
seen labouring quietly in the fields, and those belonging to the mission
were working at their usual occupations!  News, too, had come down from
the mines--no symptoms of conspiracy had been observed there!  A revolt
of the Tagnos, with the cibolero at their head, would, of the two
rumours, have been the more likely to be true; for it was well-known to
all that these were far from content with their lot--but at present
there was no appearance of such a thing around.  There were they all at
their ordinary employments.  Who, then, were the revolters?  Both
rumours, therefore, were highly improbable.

Half the town-people were soon gathered around the Presidio, and after
stories of all shapes had been carried back and forward, the definite
facts at length became known.

These, however, were as mysterious and puzzling as the rumours.  For
what reason could the cibolero have attacked the officers of the
garrison?  Who were the Indians that accompanied him?  Were they
"bravos" or "mansos"?--savages or rebels?

The most remarkable thing was, that the soldiers themselves who had
taken part in the imaginary "fight" could not answer these questions.
Some said this, and some that.  Many had heard the conversation between
Carlos and the officers; but that portion of the affair, though
perfectly natural in itself when taken in connexion with after
circumstances, only rendered the whole more complicated and mysterious!
The soldiers could give no explanation; and the people returned home, to
canvass and discuss the affair among themselves.  Various versions were
in vogue.  Some believed that the cibolero had come with the _bona fide_
desire to obtain help against the Indians--that those who accompanied
him were only a few Tagnos whom he had collected to aid in the pursuit--
and that the Comandante, having first promised to aid him, had
afterwards refused, and that this had led to the strange conduct of the
cibolero!

There was another hypothesis that gained more credit than this.  It was
that Captain Roblado was the man whom the cibolero had desired to make a
victim; that he was guided against him by motives of jealousy; for the
conduct of Carlos on the day of the fiesta was well-known, and had been
much ridiculed--that, in failing to reach Roblado, he had quarrelled
with the Comandante, and so forth.

Improbable as was this conjecture, it had many supporters, in the
absence of the true motive for the conduct of the cibolero.  There were
but four men within the Presidio to whom this was known, and only three
outside of it.  By the general public it was not even suspected.

In one thing all agreed--in condemning Carlos the cibolero.  The garotta
was too good for him; and when taken, they could all promise him ample
punishment.  The very ingratitude of the act was magnified.  It was but
the day before that these same officers had gone forth with their
valiant soldiers to do him a service!  The man must have been mad!  His
mother had no doubt bewitched him.

To have killed Lieutenant Garcia!--he who was such a favourite!
_Carrambo_!

This was true.  Garcia was liked by the people of the settlement--
perhaps not so much from the possession of any peculiar virtues, but in
contrast with his superiors.  He was an affable, harmless sort of
person, and had won general esteem.

That night the cibolero had not one friend in San Ildefonso.  Nay, we
speak wrongly.  He had _one_.  There was one heart beating for him as
fondly as ever--Catalina's--but she, too, was ignorant of the motives
which had led to his mysterious conduct.

Whatever these motives were, she knew they could not be otherwise than
just.  What to her were the calumnies--the gibes--that were heaped upon
him?  What to her if he had taken the life of a fellow-creature?  He had
not done so without good cause--without some fearful provocation.  She
believed that in her soul.  She knew his noble nature too well to think
otherwise.  He was the lord of her heart, and could do no wrong!

Sorrowful, heart-breaking news was it to her.  It boded long
separation--perhaps for ever!  He dared no more visit the town--not even
the settlement!  He would be driven to the wild plains--hunted like the
wolf or the savage bison--perhaps taken and slain!  Bitter were her
reflections.  When should she see him again?  Maybe, never!



CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

During all this time Vizcarra lay groaning upon his couch--not so much
with pain as fear, for the fear of death still haunted him.  But for
that, his rage would have been boundless; but this passion was in
abeyance--eclipsed by the terrors that flitted across his conscience.

Even had he been assured of recovery he would still have been in dread.
His imagination was diseased by his dream and the after reality.  Even
surrounded by his soldiers, he feared the cibolero, who appeared able to
accomplish any deed and escape its consequences.  He did not even feel
secure there in his chamber, with guards at the entrance, against that
avenging arm!

Now, more than ever, he was desirous of getting rid of the cause--more
than ever anxious that she should be got rid of; but he reflected that
now more than ever was that a delicate and difficult matter.  It would
undoubtedly get abroad _why_ the cibolero had made such a desperate
attempt upon his life--it would spread until it reached high quarters--
such a report could not be passed over--an investigation might be
ordered; and that, unless he could destroy every trace of suspicion,
might be his ruin.

These were his reflections while in the belief that he was going to
recover; when a doubt of this crossed his mind, he grew still more
anxious about the result.

Roblado had hinted at a way in which all might be arranged.  He waited
with impatience for the latter to make his appearance.  The warlike
captain was still engaged in beating the chapparal; but Gomez had come
in and reported that he was about to give up the search, and return to
the Presidio.

To Roblado the occurrences of the day had been rather pleasant than
otherwise; and a close observer of his conduct could have told this.  If
there was anything in the whole business that really annoyed him, it was
the wound of the Comandante--it was exasperating!  Roblado, more
experienced than the surgeon, knew this well.  The friendship that
existed between the two was a fellow-feeling in wickedness--a sort of
felon's bond--durable enough so long as there was no benefit to either
in breaking it.  But this friendship did not prevent Roblado from
regretting with all his heart that the bullet had not hit _his friend_ a
little higher up or a little lower down--either in the skull or the
throat!  He entertained this regret from no malice or ill-will towards
the Comandante, but simply from a desire to benefit himself.  It was
long since Roblado had been dreaming of promotion.  He was not too
humble to hope he might one day command the Presidio himself.
Vizcarra's death would have given him that station at once; but Vizcarra
was not to die just then, and this knowledge somewhat clouded the joy he
was then experiencing.

And it was joy.  Garcia and he had been enemies.  There had been
jealousy and ill-will between them for long; therefore the lieutenant's
death was no source of regret to him.  But the joy of Roblado owed
partly its origin to another consequence of that day's drama--one that
affected him more than any--one that was nearest his heart and his
hopes.

Absurd as appeared the pretensions of the cibolero in regard to
Catalina, Roblado had learned enough of late to make him jealous--ay,
even to give him real uneasiness.  She was a strange creature, Catalina
de Cruces--one who had shown proofs of a rare spirit--one not to be
bought and sold like a _bulto_ of goods.  She had taught both her father
and Roblado a lesson of late.  She had taught them that.  She had struck
the ground with her little foot, and threatened a convent--the grave--if
too rudely pressed!  She had not rejected Roblado--that is, in word; but
she insisted on having _her own time to make answer_; and Don Ambrosio
was compelled to concede the point.

Under such circumstances her suitor felt uneasy.  Not so much that he
was jealous--though he did love her after his own fashion, and was
piqued at the thought of such a rival--but he feared that spirit of
hers, and dreaded that her splendid fortune might yet escape him.  Such
a woman was capable of the wildest resolve.  She _might_ take to a
convent; or maybe _to the plains_ with this base-born cibolero!  Such an
event in the life of such a woman would be neither impossible nor
unlikely.  In either case she could not take her fortune with her; but
what mattered? it would not remain with him, Roblado.

The conduct of the cibolero had removed all obstacles, so far as he was
concerned.  There was no longer any dread of rivalry from that source.
His life was now forfeited.  Not only would he be cut off from all
communication with her, but he would not dare to show himself in the
settlement.  A constant vigilance would be kept on foot to guard against
that, and Roblado even promised himself the enjoyment of rare sport in
hunting down his rival, and becoming at the same time his captor and
executioner.

These were the ideas that crossed the mind of the savage captain, and
that made him feel satisfied at the events of the day.

After scouring the chapparal, and following the track of the supposed
Indians to the ceja of the table plain, he returned with his men to the
Presidio, to make preparations for a more prolonged pursuit.



CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

Roblado's arrival brought relief to Vizcarra, as he lay chafing and
fretting.

Their conversation was, of course, upon the late occurrence, and Roblado
gave his account of the pursuit.

"And do you really think," inquired the Comandante, "that the fellow had
a party of savages with him?"

"No!" answered Roblado.  "I did think so at first--that is, the men
thought so, and I was deceived by their reports.  I am now convinced
they were not Indian bravos, but some of those Tagno friends of his: for
it appears the padre was right--he had a suspicious connexion.  That of
itself might have been sufficient cause for us to have arrested him long
ago; but now we need no cause.  He is ours, when we can catch him."

"How do you propose to act?"

"Why, I have no doubt he will lead us a long chase.  We must do the best
we can to follow his trail.  I came back to provision the men so that we
can keep on for a sufficient time.  The rascals have gone out of the
valley by the upper pass, and perhaps have taken to the mountains.  So
thinks Gomez.  We shall have to follow, and endeavour to overtake them.
We must send express to the other settlements, so that the cibolero may
be captured if he make his appearance in any of them.  I don't think he
will attempt that."

"Why?"

"Why! because it appears the old witch is still alive! and, moreover, he
will hang around here so long as he has any hopes of recovering the
sister."

"Ha! you are right; he will do so.  He will never leave me till she--"

"So much the better; we shall have all the finer opportunity of laying
hands on him, which, believe me, my dear colonel, will be no easy
matter.  The fellow will be watchful as a wolf, and on that superb horse
of his can escape from our whole troop.  We'll have to capture him by
some stratagem."

"Can you think of none?"

"I have been thinking of one."

"What?"

"Why, it is simply this--in the first place, for the reasons I have
given, the fellow will hang around the settlement.  He may visit now and
then the old _hechicera_, but not often.  The other would be a better
decoy."

"You mean her?"  Vizcarra indicated the direction of the room in which
Rosita was confined.

"I do.  He is said to be foolishly fond of this sister.  Now, were she
in a place where he could visit her, I'll warrant he would come there;
and then we could trap him at our pleasure."

"In a place!--where?" eagerly demanded Vizcarra.

"Why, back to her own neighbourhood.  They'll find some residence.  If
you will consent to let her go for a while, you can easily recover
her--_the more easily when we have settled with him_!"

"Consent, Roblado!--it is the very thing I desire above all things.  My
mind will not be easy while she is here.  We are both in danger if such
a report should get in circulation.  If it should reach certain ears, we
are ruined--are we not?"

"Why, _now_ there is some truth in what you say, Garcia's death must be
reported, and the cause will be inquired into.  We must have _our_ story
as plausible as it can be made.  There must be no colour of a
suspicion--no rumour!  It will be well to get her off our hands for the
present."

"But how--that it is that troubles me--how, without increasing the
chances of suspicion?  If we send her home, how is it to be explained?
That would not be the act of _Indians_?  You said you had some plan?"

"I _think_ I have.  But first tell me, colonel, what did you mean by
saying she was _mad_?"

"That she was so; is so still,--so says Jose,--within the hour,
muttering strange incongruities--knows not what is said to her.  I tell
you, Roblado, it terrified _me_."

"You are sure she knows not what is said to her?"

"Sure of it."

"So much the better.  She will then not remember where she is or _has
been_.  Now I _know_ that I have a plan--nothing easier than to get her
off.  She shall go back and tell--if she can tell anything--that she has
been in the hands of the Indians!  That will satisfy you?"

"But how can it be arranged?"

"My dear Comandante, no difficulty in it.  Listen!  To-night, or before
day in the morning, Gomez and Jose, in Indian costume as before, can
carry her off to some spot which I shall indicate.  In the mountains be
it.  No matter how far off or how near.  She may be tied, and found in
their company in the morning in such a way as to appear _their captive_.
So much the better if she has recovered her senses enough to think so.
Well; I with the troopers, in hunt after the cibolero, will come upon
these Indians by accident.  A few shots may be fired at sufficient
distance to do them no hurt.  They will make off, leaving their captive,
whom we will rescue and bring back to the town, where she can be
delivered out of our hands!  Ha! ha! ha!  What think you, Comandante, of
my scheme?"

"Excellent!" replied Vizcarra, his mind seemingly relieved at the
prospect of its execution.

"Why, it would blind the very devil!  We shall not only be free from
suspicion, but we'll get credit by it.  What! a successful affair with
the savages!--rescue of a female captive!--restore her to her friends!--
she, too, the sister of the very man who has endeavoured to assassinate
you!  I tell you, Comandante, the cibolero himself, if that will be any
comfort to you, will be humbugged by it!  She will swear--_if her word
be worth anything_--that she has been in the hands of _los barbaros_ all
the while!  She will give the lie even to her own brother!"

"The plan is excellent.  It must be done to-night!"

"To-night, of course.  As soon as the men have gone to bed, Gomez can
start with her.  I must give over the idea of following the trail to-day
and, in truth, I regard that as idle.  Our only chance for taking him
will be to set our trap, with her for its bait; and that we can arrange
hereafter.  Give yourself no farther uneasiness about it.  By late
breakfast to-morrow I shall make my report to you,--Desperate affair
with Jicarillas, or Yutas--several warriors killed--female captive
rescued--valiant conduct of troops--recommend Corporal--for promotion,
etcetera.  Ha! ha! ha!"

The Comandante joined in this laugh, which, perhaps, he would not have
done, but that Roblado had already assured him that his wound was not of
the slightest danger, and would heal in a couple of weeks.

Roblado had given him assurance of this by calling the doctor a fool,
and heaping upon him other opprobrious epithets.  The delivery,
therefore, from the fear of apprehended death, as well as from the other
thought that was torturing him, had restored Vizcarra to a composure he
had not enjoyed for the twenty-four hours preceding; and he now began to
imbibe, to its full extent, another passion--that of vengeance against
the cibolero.

That night, after tattoo had sounded, and the soldiers had retired to
their respective quarters, a small mounted party was seen to issue from
the gateway of the Presidio, and take a road that led in the direction
of the mountains.  The party consisted of three individuals.  One,
closely wrapped, and mounted upon a mule, appeared to be a female.  The
other two, oddly attired, and fantastically adorned with paint and
feathers, might have been taken for a brace of Indian warriors.  But
they were not Indians.  They were Spanish soldiers in Indian disguise.
They were Sergeant Gomez and the soldier Jose in charge of the
cibolero's sister.



CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

When Carlos reached the edge of the chapparal, his pursuers were still
only parting from the walls of the Presidio.  Of course none followed
him on foot, and it had taken the men some time to get their arms and
horses ready.  So far as he was concerned, he no longer feared pursuit,
and would have scorned to take a circuitous path.  He had such
confidence in the steed he bestrode, that he knew he could escape before
the eyes of his pursuers, and need not have hidden himself in the
chapparal.

As he rode into the ambuscade he was thinking no longer of his own
safety, but of that of Don Juan and his party.  Their critical situation
suddenly came before his mind.  How were _they_ to escape?

Even before he had half crossed the open ground this thought had
troubled him more than his own peril, and a plan had been before him:--
to make direct for the pass of La Nina, and shun the chapparal
altogether.  This would have drawn the dragoons in the same direct
course; and Don Juan, with his Tagnos, might have got off at their
leisure.

Carlos would have put this plan in execution, could he have trusted to
the prudence of Don Juan; but he feared to do so.  The latter was
somewhat rash, and not over-sagacious.  Seeing Carlos in the act of
escape, he might think it was his duty, as agreed upon, to show himself
and his men on the edge of the thicket--the very thing Carlos now wished
to prevent.  For that reason the cibolero galloped direct to the place
of ambuscade, where Don Juan and his men were waiting in their saddles.

"Thank God you are safe!" cried Don Juan; "but they are after you.
Yonder they come in scores!"

"Yes!" replied Carlos, looking back; "and a good start I've gained on
them!"

"What's best to be done?" inquired Don Juan.  "Shall we scatter through
the chapparal, or keep together?  They'll be upon us soon!"

Carlos hesitated a moment before making reply.  Three plans of action
were possible, offering more or less chance of safety.  First, to
scatter through the chapparal as Don Juan had suggested; second, to make
off together and at once _without showing themselves_, taking the back
track, as they had come; and, third, to _show themselves_ in front to
the pursuers, and then retire on the back path.  Of course the idea of
fight was not entertained for a moment.  That would have been idle, even
absurd, under the circumstances.

The mind of the cibolero, used to quick action, examined these plans
with the rapidity of thought itself.  The first was rejected without a
moment's consideration.  To have scattered through the chapparal would
have resulted in certain capture.  The jungle was too small, not over a
couple of miles in width, though extending to twice that length.  There
were soldiers enough to surround it, which they would do.  They would
beat it from side to side.  They could not fail to capture half the
party; and though these had made no demonstration as yet, they would be
connected with the affair at the Presidio, and would be severely
punished, if not shot down on the spot.

To attempt to get off through the chapparal without showing themselves
at all would have been the plan that Carlos would have adopted, had he
not feared that they would be overtaken before night.  The Tagnos were
mounted on mules, already jaded, while most of the troopers rode good
and swift horses.  But for that Carlos might have hoped that they would
escape unseen, and thus neither Don Juan nor his people would have been
suspected of having had any part in the affair.  This would be an
important consideration for the future; but the plan was not to be
thought of.  The third plan was adopted.

The hesitation of the cibolero was not half so long as the time you have
occupied in reading of it.  Scarce ten seconds elapsed ere he made
reply, not to Don Juan alone, but to the whole band, in a voice loud
enough for all to hear.  The reply was in the form of a command.

"Ride through the bush, all of you!  Show yourselves near the front!
your heads and shoulders only, with your bows!  Give your war-cry! and
then back till you are out of sight!  Scatter right and left!--Follow
me!"

As Carlos delivered these hurried directions, he dashed forward through
the underwood and soon appeared near its edge.  The Tagnos, guarded by
Don Juan on one side and Antonio on the other, showed almost
simultaneously in an irregular line along the margin of the thicket; and
flourishing their bows above their heads, they uttered a defiant
war-whoop, as though they were a party of savage Indians.

It would have required a practised eye to have told from a short
distance that they were not.  Most of them were bare-headed, with long
flowing hair; and, in fact, differing very little in appearance from
their brethren of the plains.  They all had bows, a weapon still carried
by the Indios mansos when engaged in any hostilities; and their war-cry
differed not at all from some tribes called "bravos", "wild."  Many in
the band had but a short time left aside the full practice of warfare.
Many of them were but neophytes to the arts of peace.

The effect of the demonstration was just what the cibolero had
calculated on.  The soldiers, who were galloping forward in straggling
knots, and some of whom had got within three hundred paces of the
chapparal, reined up in surprise.  Several showed symptoms of a desire
to gallop back again, but these were restrained at sight of a large body
of their comrades now issuing from the Presidio.

The whole of them were taken by surprise.  They believed that the
"Indios bravos" were in the chapparal, and no doubt in overwhelming
numbers.  Their belief was strengthened by the proceedings of the
previous days, in which they had done nought else, as they supposed, but
ride scout after "los barbaros."  The latter had now come after _them_!
They halted, therefore, on the plains, and waited for their fellows to
come up.

That this would be the effect of his _ruse_ Carlos foresaw.  He now
directed his companions to rein gently back, until they were once more
under cover of the brush; and the whole party arrived at the spot where
they had waited in ambush.

Antonio then took the trail, and guided them through the chapparal; not
as they had come to La Nina, but by a path that led to the upper plain
by another pass in the cliffs.  From a point in this pass they obtained
a distant view of the chapparal and the plain beyond.  Though now full
three miles from their place of ambush, they could see the valiant
troopers still figuring on the open ground in front of it.  They had not
yet ventured to penetrate the dangerous underwood which they believed to
be alive with ferocious savages!

Carlos, having reached the upper plain, struck off with his band in a
direction nearly north.  His object was to reach a ravine at some ten
miles distance across the plain, and this was gained without a single
pursuer having appeared in the rear.

This ravine led in an easterly direction as far as the Pecos bottom.  It
was the channel of a stream, in which water flowed in the rainy season,
but was now quite dry.  Its bed was covered with small pebbles, and a
horse-trail upon these was scarcely to be followed, as the track only
displaced the pebbles, leaving no "sign" that could be "read" to any
advantage.  Old and new foot-marks were all the same.

Into this ravine the party descended, and, after travelling down it for
five or six miles, halted.  Carlos called the halt for a special
object--to detail a plan for their future proceeding, which had been
occupying his attention during the last hour or two.

As yet, none of the party were compromised but himself.  It would not
advantage him that they should be, but the contrary.  Neither Don Juan
nor Antonio had shown themselves out of the thicket; and the other dusky
faces, seen but for an instant through the brambles, could not have been
recognised by the frightened troopers.  If, therefore, Don Juan and his
peons could get back to their home without observation, for them all
would still be well.

This was a possible event.  At starting Carlos had cautioned secrecy as
to the expedition.  It had left at an early hour, before any one was
abroad, and no one knew of it.  Indeed, no one in the valley was aware
that the cibolero had returned before the news of the affair at the
Presidio.  His mules had been quietly unpacked, and were herded at a
distance from the rancho by one of his men.  If, then, the _troopers_
should not visit that neighbourhood before the following day, Don Juan
and his people could go back in the night and engage in their usual
occupations without any suspicion.  No doubt Roblado would be there in
the morning, but not likely before.  It was natural to suppose he would
first endeavour to follow the route they had taken, and it led almost in
the opposite direction from the house of Don Juan.  To track them along
all the windings of that route would be the work of one day at least.
Then their pursuers would be no wiser as to where they had betaken
themselves, for Carlos, from the point of halting, intended to adopt a
plan that would be certain to throw the troopers off the trail.

It was decided, in fine, that Don Juan and his people should return
home--that the peons of Carlos should also go back to the rancho; roof
it on the following day--for it only wanted that; and remain by it as if
nothing had occurred.  They could not be made answerable for the deeds
of their master.

As for the cibolero himself, his residence must remain unknown, except
to one or two of his tried friends.  He knew where he should find a
shelter.  To him the open plain or the mountain cave was alike a home.
He needed no roof.  The starry canopy was as welcome as the gilded
ceiling of a palace.

The Tagnos were enjoined to secrecy.  They were not sworn.  A Tagno is
not the man to talk; besides, they all knew that their own safety,
perhaps their lives, depended on their silence.

All these matters were at length arranged, but the party remained where
they had halted till near sunset.  They then mounted, and continued on
down the channel.

When they had gone a mile or so, one of them climbed out of the ravine,
and, heading southward, rode off across the plain.  This direction would
bring him back to the valley, by a pass near the lower end of the
settlement.  It would be night by the time he could reach this pass, and
he was not likely to encounter any one on the route--now that the "wild"
Indians were abroad!

Shortly after, a second Tagno left the ravine, and rode off in a line
nearly parallel to that taken by the first.  Soon another imitated the
example, and another, and another, until all had forsaken the ravine
except Don Juan, Antonio, and the cibolero himself.  The Tagnos had been
instructed to reach home by different passes, and some of them, more
sagacious, were sent by the most circuitous paths.  There was no trooper
belonging to the Presidio likely to follow that trail.

Carlos and his two companions, after riding to the farthest end of the
ravine, also turned to the right, and re-entered the valley of San
Ildefonso at its lower extremity.  It was quite dark, but all of them
knew the road well, and about midnight they arrived near the house of
the young ranchero.

A reconnaissance was necessary before they dared approach.  That was
soon made, and the report brought back that all was right, and no
troopers had yet made their appearance.

Carlos once more embraced his mother hurriedly, related what had passed,
gave some instructions to Don Juan, and then, mounting his horse, rode
off from the place.

He was followed by Antonio and a pack-mule loaded with provisions.  They
passed down the valley, and struck out in the direction of the Llano
Estacado.



CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

On the following day a new incident created a fresh surprise among the
inhabitants of San Ildefonso, already excited by an unusual series of
"novedades."  About noon a party of lancers passed through the town on
their way to the Presidio.  They were returning from a scout in search
of the "assassin"--so Carlos was designated.  Of him they had found no
traces; but they had fallen in with a large body of "Indios bravos"
among the spurs of the mountains, with whom they had had a terrific
conflict!  This had resulted in the loss of great numbers killed on the
part of the Indians, who had contrived, as usual, to carry off their
dead--hence, the soldiers had returned without scalps!  They had
brought, however,--a far more positive trophy of victory--a young girl
belonging to the settlement, whom they had re-captured from the
savages, and whom Captain Roblado--the gallant leader of the
expedition--_supposed_ to be the same that had been carried off few days
before from a rancho at the lower end of the valley!

The captain halted in the plaza, with a few men--those in charge of the
recovered captive.  The remainder of the troop passed on to the
Presidio.  Roblado's object in stopping in the town, or in coming that
way--for it did not lie in his return route--was threefold.  First, to
deliver his charge into the hands of the civic authorities; secondly, to
make sure that everybody should witness the delivery, and be satisfied
by this living evidence that a great feat had been performed; and
thirdly, that he might have the opportunity of a little swagger in front
of a certain balcony.

These three objects the captain attained, but the last of them did not
turn out quite to his satisfaction.  Although the bugle had played
continuously, announcing the approach of a troop--although the recovered
captive was placed conspicuously in the ranks--and although his
(Roblado's) horse, under the influence of sharp spurs, pitched himself
into the most superb attitudes, all went for nothing--Catalina did not
show in the balcony!  Among the faces of "dependientes" and "criados,"
hers was not to be seen; and the triumphant look of the victorious
leader, as soon as he had ridden past, changed to a gloomy expression of
disappointment.

A few minutes after, he dismounted in front of the "Casa de Cabildo,"
where he delivered the girl into the hands of the alcalde and other
authorities of the town.  This ceremony was accompanied by a
grandiloquent speech, in which an account of the recapture was given
with some startling details; sympathy was expressed for the parents of
the girl, _whoever they might be_; and the speaker wound up by
expressing his opinion that the unfortunate captive could be no other
than the young girl reported to have been carried off a few days before!

All this was very plausible and proper; and Roblado, having resigned his
charge to the keeping of the alcalde, mounted and rode off amidst a
storm of complimentary phrases from the authorities, and "vivas" of
applause from the populace.

"_Dios lo pague, capitan_!"  (God reward you, captain!) was the prayer
that reached his ears as he pushed through the crowd!

A keen physiognomist could at that moment have detected in the corner of
Roblado's eye a very odd expression--a mingling of irony with a strong
desire to laugh.  In fact, the gallant captain could hardly keep from
bursting out in the faces of his admirers, and was only restrained from
doing so by the desire of keeping the joke bottled up till he could
enjoy it in the company of the Comandante--to whom he was now hastening.

Back to the captive.

The crowd pressed around her, all eager to gratify their curiosity.
Strange to say that this feeling predominated.  There was less
appearance of sympathy than might have been looked for under the
circumstances.  The number of those that uttered the "pobrecita!"--that
tender expression of Mexican pity--was few; and they were principally
the poor dark-skinned native women.  The well-dressed shopkeepers, both
Gachupinos and Criollos, both met and women, looked on with
indifference, or with no other feeling than that of morbid curiosity.

Such an indifference to suffering is by no means a characteristic of the
New Mexican people--I should rather say of the females of that land--for
the men are brutal enough.  As regards the former, the very opposite
character is theirs.

Their conduct would be unaccountable, therefore, but for the knowledge
of a fact which guided it on this occasion.  They knew who the captive
girl was--they knew she was the sister of Carlos the cibolero--Carlos
_the murderer_!  This it was that checked the flow of their bettor
feelings.

Against Carlos the popular indignation was strong.  "Asesino", "ladron,"
"ingrato," were the terms used in speaking of him.  A wretch! to have
murdered the good lieutenant--the favourite of the place; and for what
motive?  Some paltry quarrel or jealousy!  What motive, indeed?  There
seemed no motive but a thirst of blood on the part of this "demonio,"
this "guero heretico."  Ungrateful wretch, too, to have attempted the
life of the valiant Comandante--he who had been striving all he could to
recover the assassin's sister from the Indian savages!

And now he had actually succeeded!  Only think of it!  There she was,
brought safe home again by the agency of this very Comandante, who had
sent his captain and soldiers for her,--this very man whom he would have
killed!  _Demonio! asesino! ladron_!  They would all be glad to see him
seated in the chair of the "garrote."  No "buen Catolico" would have
acted as he had done--no one but a sinful "heretico"--a blood-loving
"Americano"!  How he would be punished _when caught_!

Such were the feelings of all the populace, except, perhaps, the poor
slaves--the _mansos_--and a very few Criollos, who, although not
approving of the acts of Carlos, held revolutionary principles, and
hated the Spanish _regime_ with all their hearts.

With such prejudice against the cibolero, no wonder that there was but
little sympathy for the forlorn creature, his sister:

That it _was_ his sister no one doubted, although there were few on the
spot who knew either.  Up to the day of the fiesta her brother, now so
notorious, was but little known to the inhabitants of the town, which he
rarely visited--she less; and there were but few in the place who had
ever seen her before that hour.  But the identity was unmistakeable.
The fair, golden hair, the white skin, the glowing red of the cheeks,
though common in other parts of the world, were rare characteristics in
North Mexico.  The proclamation upon the walls described the "asesino"
as possessing them.  This could be no other than his sister.  Besides,
there were those who had seen her at the fiesta, where her beauty had
not failed to attract both admiration and envy.

She looked beautiful as ever, though the red was not so bright on her
cheek, and a singular, wild expression appeared in her eyes.  To the
questions put to her she either answered not or returned vague replies.
She sat in silence; but several times broke forth into strange,
unintelligible, exclamatory phrases, in which the words "Indios" and
"barbaros" repeatedly occurred.

"_Esta loco_!"  ("She is mad!") muttered one to another; "she fancies
she is still with the savages!"

Perhaps it was so.  Certainly she was not among friends.

The alcalde inquired if there was any one present--relative or friend--
to whom he could deliver her up.

A young girl, a poblana, who had just arrived on the spot, came forward.
She knew the "pobrecita."  She would take charge of her, and conduct
her to her home.

A half-Indian woman was in company with the poblana.  It might have been
her mother.  Between the two the restored captive was led away; and the
crowd soon dispersed and returned to their various avocations.

The girl and her conductors turned into a narrow street that led through
the suburb where the poorest people lived.  Passing this, they emerged
into the open country; and then, following an unfrequented path through
the chapparal, a few hundred yards brought them to a small mud rancho,
which they entered.  In a few minutes after a carreta, in which sat a
peon, was driven up to the door, and stopped there.

The poblana, leading the girl by the hand, came out of the house, and
both mounted into the carreta.  As soon as the two were seated upon the
bunches of dry "zacato" thrown into the carreta for this purpose, the
driver goaded his oxen and moved off.  The vehicle, after passing out of
the chapparal path, took the main road leading to the lower settlements
of the valley.

As they moved on the poblana regarded her companion with kind looks, and
assisted her in arranging her seat, so as to defend her as much as
possible against the joltings of the carreta.  She added numerous
expressions of a sympathising and consolatory character, but none that
bespoke recognition or old acquaintance.  It was evident that the girl
had never seen Rosita before.

When they had got about a mile from the town, and were moving along an
unfrequented part of the road, a horseman was seen coming after, and at
such speed as to overtake them in a few minutes.  He was mounted on a
pretty mustang that bore the signs of being well cared for.  Its flanks
were rounded with fat, and it capered as it galloped along.

As it came close to the carreta the rider called out to the driver to
stop; and it then appeared that the _horseman_ was a _woman_, as the
soft sweet voice at once indicated.  More than that, the rider was a
_senorita_, as the soft cheek, the silky hair, and the delicate
features, showed.  At a distance it was natural enough to have taken her
for one of the opposite sex.  A common serape covered her shoulders; a
broad-brimmed sombrero concealed most of her black shining hair; and she
rode according to the general custom of the country--the custom of its
men.

"Why, Senorita!--is it you?" asked the poblana, in a tone of surprise,
and with a gesture of respect.

"Ha! ha! you did not know me, then, Josefa?"

"No, Senorita;--_ay de mi_! how could I in that disguise?"

"Disguise do you call it?  Why, it is the usual costume!"

"True, Senorita; but not for a grand senora like you.  _Carrambo_!"

"Well, I think I must be disguised, as I passed several acquaintances
who would not bow to me!  Ha! ha!"

"_Pobrecita_--_ita_--_ita_!" continued she, suddenly changing her tone,
and regarding Josefa's companion with a look of kind sympathy.  "How she
must have suffered!  Poor dear girl!  I fear it is true what they have
told me.  _Santisima Virgen_! how like--"

The phrase was left unfinished.  The speaker had forgotten the presence
of Josefa and the peon, and was delivering her thoughts in too loud a
soliloquy.  The unfinished sentence had involuntarily escaped from her
lips.

Suddenly checking herself, she looked sharply towards the two.  The peon
was busy with his oxen, but the poblana's face wore an expression of
curiosity.

"Like whom, Senorita?" innocently inquired she.

"One whom I know.  No matter, Josefa."  And, as the lady said this, she
raised her finger to her lips, and looked significantly towards the
peon.

Josefa, who knew her secret, and who guessed the "one" meant, remained
silent.  After a moment the lady drew her mustang nearer the carreta,
upon the side on which Josefa sat, and, bending over, whispered to the
latter:--

"Remain below till the morning; you will be too late to return to-night.
Remain! perhaps you may hear something.  Come early--not to the house.
Be in time for _oration_.  You will find me in the church.  Perhaps you
may see Antonio.  If so, give him this."  A diamond set in a golden
circlet sparkled a moment at the tips of the lady's fingers, and then
lay hid in the shut fist of the poblana.  "Tell him _for whom_--he need
not know who sent it.  There is money for your expenses, and some to
give her; or give it to her mother, _if they will accept it_."  Here a
purse fell in Josefa's lap.  "Bring me news! oh, bring me news, dear
Josefa!  _Adios! adios_!"

The last salutation was uttered hurriedly; and, as the lady pronounced
it, she wheeled her glossy mustang and galloped back towards the town.

She need not have doubted that Josefa would fulfil her instructions
about "remaining below until the morning!" for the poblana was nearly,
if not quite, as much interested as herself in this journey.  The rather
pretty Josefa chanced to be the sweetheart of the half-blood Antonio;
and whether she saw Antonio or not, she was not likely to hurry back
that night.  If she did see him, so much the pleasanter to remain; if
not, she should remain in the hope of such an event.

With a full purse of "pesos"--a sixth of which would pay all expenses--
and the prospect of meeting with Antonio, the rough carreta seemed all
at once transformed to an elegant coach, with springs and velvet
cushions,--such as Josefa had heard of, but had never seen!

The kind-hearted girl readjusted the seats, placed the head of Rosita on
her lap, spread her reboso over her to keep off the evening dew, and
then told the peon to move on.  The latter uttered a loud "ho-ha!"
touched his oxen with the goad, and once more set them in motion along
the dusty road.



CHAPTER FORTY.

Early morning prayer in the "iglesia" is a fashionable custom among the
senoras of Mexico--particularly among those who dwell in cities and
towns.  Close upon the heels of daybreak you may see them issuing from
the great doors of their houses, and hurrying through the streets
towards the chapel, where the bell has already begun its deafening
"ding-dong."  They are muffled beyond the possibility of recognition--
the richer in their silken shawls and mantas, the poorer in their
slate-coloured rebosos; under the folds of which each carries a little
bound volume--the "_misa_."

Let us follow them into the sacred temple, and see what passes there.

If we arrive late, and take station near the door we shall be presented
with the spectacle of several hundred backs in a kneeling position--that
is, the individuals to whom the backs belong will be found kneeling.

These backs are by no means alike--no more than faces are.  They are of
all shapes, and sizes, and colours, and classes in the social scale.
You will see the backs of ladies in shawls--some of whom have permitted
that elegant garment to fall to the shoulders, while others retain it
over the crowns of their heads, thus creating two very distinct styles
of back.  You will see the backs of pretty poblanas, with the end of
their rebosos hanging gracefully over them; and the back of the
poblana's mother with the reboso ill arranged, and not over clean.  You
will see the back of the merchant scarcely covered with a short cloth
jacket, and the back of the "aguador" cased in well-worn leather; the
back of the "guapo" muffled in a cloak of fine broad-cloth, and that of
the "lepero" shrouded in a ragged scrape; and then you will see broad
backs and slender ones, straight backs and crooked ones; and you run a
good chance of beholding a hunch or two--especially if the church be in
a large town.  But wheresoever you enter a Mexican iglesia during
prayer-time, I promise you the view of an extensive assortment of backs.
Not classified, however.  Quite the contrary.  The back of the shawled
lady may be inclusive between two greasy rebosos, and the striped or
speckled back of the lepero may rise up alongside the shining
broad-cloth of the dandy!  I do not answer for any classification of the
backs; I only guarantee their extensive number and variety.  The only
face that is likely to confront you at this moment will be the shaven
phiz of a fat priest, in full sacerdotal robes of linen, that were once,
no doubt, clean and white, but that look now as if they had been sent to
the buck-basket, and by some mistake brought back before reaching the
laundry.  This individual, with a look as unlike heaven as the wickedest
of his flock, will be seen stirring about on his little stage; now
carrying a wand--now a brazen pot of smoking "incense," and anon some
waxen doll--the image of a saint; while in the midst of his
manipulations you may hear him "murmuring" a gibberish of ill-pronounced
Latin.  If you have witnessed the performance of M. Robin, or the "Great
Wizard," you cannot fail to be reminded of them at this moment.

The tinkling of a little bell, which you will presently hear, has a
magical effect upon the backs.  For a short while you may have observed
them in an odd attitude--not erect as backs ought to be, but slouching
and one-sided.  During this interval, too, you may catch a glance of a
face--merely the profile--and if it be pretty, you will forget the back;
but then the party is no longer a back in the proper sense.  You won't
be struck with the devotion of the profile, if you are with its
prettiness.  You may observe it wink or look cunningly, and, if your
observation be good, you may note another profile, of coarser mould,
corresponding to that wink or cunning glance.  This goes on while the
backs are in their "slouch" or attitude of repose.  How that attitude is
produced will be to you a mystery, an anatomical puzzle; but it may be
explained.  It is simple enough to those who know it.  It is brought
about by the back changing its base from the marrow-bones to the hips;
and this is done so adroitly, that, under cover of shawls, mantas,
rebosos, and skirts, it is no wonder you are puzzled by it.

The little bell, however, brings the backs all right again.  It is to
these devotees what the "Attention!" is to the rank and file of an army;
and the moment the first tinkle is heard, backs up is the movement, and
all become suddenly elevated several inches above their former standard.
Thus they remain, stiff and erect, while the priest mumbles a fresh
"Ave Maria," or "Pater noster," and goes through a fresh exhibition of
pantomime.  Then the backs are suddenly shortened again, the profiles
appear as before--nods, and winks, and cunning glances, are exchanged--
and that till the little bell sounds a second time.  And then there will
be a third course of this performance, and a fourth, and so on, till the
worship (!) is ended.

This ridiculous genuflexion and mummery you may see repeated every
morning in a Mexican "iglesia," long before the hour of breakfast.  Both
men and women engage in it, but by far the greater number of the
devotees are of the gentler sex, and many of them the fashionable
senoras of the place.

One is inclined to inquire into the motives that draw so many people out
of their beds, to shiver through the streets and in the cold church at
such an early hour.  Is it religion?  Is it superstition?  Is it
penance?  Is it devotion?  No doubt many of these silly creatures really
believe that the act is pleasing to God; that these genuflexions and
orisons, mechanically repeated, will give them grace in His eyes.  But
it is very certain that many of the most constant attendants on these
morning prayers are actuated by very different feelings.  In a land of
jealous men you will find the women peculiarly intelligent and cunning,
and the matutinal hour is to them the "golden opportunity."  He is a
very jealous guardian, indeed, whose vigil tempts him from his couch at
so chill an hour!

Await the end of the performance by the door of the "iglesia."  There
stands a large vase filled with the consecrated water.  Each, in passing
out, takes a dip and a sprinkle.  In this basin you will see the small
jewelled hand immerse its finger-tips, and the next moment adroitly
deliver a _carte d'amour_ to some cloaked cavallero.  Perhaps you may
see the wealthy senora, in the safe disguise of the serape, leave the
church in a direction opposite to that by which she came.  If you are
curious enough to follow--which would be extremely ill-bred--you may
witness under the trees of the "alameda," or some unfrequented quarter,
the forbidden "_entrevista_."

The morning, in a Mexican city, has its adventures as well as the night.

The bell of the church of San Ildefonso had just commenced to ring for
"oracion," when a female form was seen issuing from the gateway of one
of the largest mansions of the town, and taking the direction of the
church.  It was yet scarce daybreak, and the person thus observed was
closely muffled; but her tall upright form, the dignity and grace of her
carriage, and the proud elastic step told that she was a grand senora.
As she reached the portal of the church she stopped for some moments and
looked around.  Her face was not visible, as it was "tapada" under the
folds of a closely-drawn manta; but her attitude, with her head
occasionally moving around, showed that she was scanning the figures
that, at the summons of the bell, approached like shadows through the
grey light.  She was evidently expecting some one; and from the eager
scrutiny with which she regarded each new form that entered the plaza,
it was some one whose presence was much desired.

The last of the devotees had arrived and entered the church.  It would
be idle to remain longer; and, turning on her heel with an air that
betokened disappointment, the lady glided across the portal, and
disappeared through the door.

In another moment she was kneeling in front of the altar, repeating her
orisons and telling over the beads of her rosary.

She was not the last to enter the church; still another devotee came
later.  About the time that she was leaving the portal a carreta drove
into the plaza, and halted in a remote corner.  A young girl leaped out
of the carreta, tripped nimbly across the square, in the direction of
the church, and passed within the portal.  The dress of this new-comer--
a flaming red "nagua," broidered chemisette, and reboso--showed that she
belonged to the poorer class of citizens.  She was a poblana.

She entered the church, but before kneeling she threw an inquiring
glance along the array of backs.  Her eye became fixed upon one that was
covered with a manta.  It was that of the lady of whom we have spoken.
This seemed to satisfy the poblana, who, gliding over the floor, knelt
down in such a position that her elbow almost rested against that of the
lady.

So silently had this movement been executed that the lady did not
perceive her new neighbour until a slight "nudge" upon the elbow caused
her to start and look round.  A gleam of satisfaction lit up her
features, though her lips continued to repeat the prayer, as if nothing
had happened.

After a while came the cue for adopting the pose of rest, and then the
two kneeling figures--senorita and poblana--dropped towards each other,
so that their arms touched.  A moment later and two hands became
uncovered--one a little brown-skinned paw from under the reboso--the
other, a delicate arrangement of white and jewelled fingers, from the
manta.

They came in contact as if by a mutual understanding, and, though they
were _en rapport_ but a half-second, a close observer might have noticed
a small roll of paper passed from one to the other--from the brown
fingers to the white ones!  It would have required a close observer to
have noticed this manoeuvre, for so adroitly was it executed that none
of those kneeling around, either in front or rear, saw anything amiss.

The two hands again disappeared under their respective covers; the
little bell tinkled, and both senora and poblana once more shot into an
upright position, and, with most devout looks, repeated the prayers of
the misa.

When the "oracion" was over, and while sprinkling themselves at the
sacred fount, a few hurried words passed between them; but they went out
of the church separately, and walked off in separate directions.  The
poblana hastened across the square, and disappeared into a narrow
street.  The senora walked proudly back to the mansion whence she had
come, her countenance radiant with joyful anticipation.

As soon as she had entered the house she proceeded directly to her own
chamber, and, opening the little folded slip of paper, read:--

"Querida Catalina!--You have made me happy.  But an hour ago I was the
most wretched of men.  I have lost my sister, and I feared your esteem.
Both are restored to me.  My sister is by my side, and the gem that
sparkles on my finger tells me that even calumny has failed to rob me of
your friendship--your love.  _You_ do not deem me an assassin.  No; nor
am I one.  I have been an avenger, but no assassin.  You shall know
all--the fearful plot of which I and mine have been the victims.  It is
scarce credible--so great is its atrocity!  I am indeed its victim.  I
can no more show myself in the settlement.  I am henceforth to be hunted
like the wolf, and treated as one, if captured.  I care not for that, so
long as I know that you are not among my enemies.

"But for you I should go far hence.  I cannot leave you.  I would sooner
risk life every hour in the day, than exile myself from the spot where
you dwell--you, the only being I can ever love.

"I have kissed the gem a hundred times.  In life, the sweet token can
never part from me.

"My foes are after me like bloodhounds, but I fear them not.  My brave
steed is never out of my sight, and with him I can scorn my cowardly
pursuers.  But I must venture one visit to the town.  I must see you
once, querida.  I have words for you I cannot trust to paper.  Do not
refuse to see me, and I shall come to the old place of meeting.
To-morrow night--midnight.  Do not refuse me, dearest love.  I have much
to explain that I cannot without seeing you face to face.  You shall
know that I am not an assassin--that I am still worthy of being your
lover.

"Thanks!--thanks for your kindness to my poor little wounded bird!  I
trust to God she will soon be well again.  _Mi querida.  Adios_!"

When the beautiful lady had finished reading the note, she pressed it to
her lips, and fervently kissed it.

"Worthy of being my lover!" she murmured; "ay, worthy to be the lover of
a queen!  Brave, noble Carlos!"

Again she kissed the paper, and, thrusting it into her bosom, glided
softly from the apartment.



CHAPTER FORTY ONE.

Vizcarra's desire for revenge grew stronger every hour.  The almost
joyful reaction he had experienced, when relieved from the fear of
death, was short-lived.  So, too, was that which followed his relief
from the anxiety about his captive.  The thought that now tortured him
was of a different character.  The very breath of his existence--his
personal appearance--was ruined for ever.  He was disfigured for life!

When the mirror was passed before his face, it caused his heart to burn
like a coal of fire.  Coward though he was, he would almost as soon have
been killed outright.

Several of his teeth were gone.  They might have been replaced; but not
so could be restored the mutilated cheek.  A portion had been carried
off by the "tear" of the bullet.  There would be a hideous scar never to
be healed!

The sight was horrible.  His thoughts were horrible.  He groaned
outright as he contemplated the countenance which the cibolero had given
him.  He swore vengeance.  Death and torture if he could but capture
Carlos--death to him and his!

At times he even repented that he had sent away the sister.  Why should
he have cared for consequences?  Why had he not revenged himself upon
_her_?  He no longer loved her.  Her scornful laugh still rankled in his
heart.  She had been the cause of all his sufferings--of sufferings that
would never end but with his life--chagrin and mortification for the
rest of his days!  Why had he not taken _her_ life?  That would have
been sweet revenge upon the brother.  It would almost have been
satisfaction.

He tossed upon his couch, tortured with these reflections, and giving
utterance at intervals to groans of anguish and horrid imprecations.

Carlos must be captured.  No effort must be spared to ensure that event.
And captured _alive_ if possible.  He should measure out the
punishment.  It should be death, but not sudden death.  No; the savages
of the plains should be his teachers.  The cibolero should die like a
captive Indian--by fire at the stake.  Vizcarra swore this!

After him, the mother, too.  She was deemed a witch.  She should be
punished as often witches have been.  In this he would not have to act
alone.  He knew that the padres would endorse the act.  They were well
inclined to such fanatical cruelties.

Then the sister, alone--uncared for by any one.  She would be wholly in
his power--to do with her us he would, and no one to stay his will.  It
was not love, but revenge.

Such terrible resolves passed through the mind of the wretched caitiff.

Roblado was equally eager for the death of the cibolero.  His vanity had
been scathed as well, for he was now satisfied that Catalina was deeply
interested in the man, if not already on terms of intimacy--on terms of
love, mutually reciprocated and understood.  He had visited her since
the tragical occurrence at the Presidio.  He had observed a marked
change in her manner.  He had thought to triumph by the malignant abuse
heaped on the _assassin_; but she, although she said nothing in defence
of the latter--of course she could not--was equally silent on the other
side, and showed no symptoms of indignation at the deed.  His
(Roblado's) abusive epithets, joined to those which her own father
liberally heaped upon the man, seemed to give her pain.  It was plain
she would have defended him had she dared!

All this Roblado had noticed during his morning call.

But more still had he learnt, for he had a spy upon her acts.  One of
her maids, Vicenza, who for some reason had taken a dislike to her
mistress, was false to her, and had, for a length of time, been the
confidant of the military wooer.  A little gold and flattery, and a
soldier-sweetheart--who chanced to be Jose--had rendered Vicenza
accessible.  Roblado was master of her thoughts, and through Jose he
received information regarding Catalina, of which the latter never
dreamt.  This system of espionage had been but lately established, but
it had already produced fruits.  Through it Roblado had gained the
knowledge that he himself was hated by the object of his regard, and
that she loved some other!  What other even Vicenza could not tell.
That other Roblado could easily guess.

It is not strange that he desired the capture and death of Carlos the
cibolero.  He was as eager for that event as Vizcarra himself.

Both were making every exertion to bring it about.  Already
scouting-parties had been sent out in different directions.  A
proclamation had been posted on the walls of the town,--the joint
production of the Comandante and his captain, offering a high reward for
the cibolero's head, and a still higher sum for the cibolero himself if
captured alive!

The citizens, to show their zeal and loyalty, had also issued a
proclamation to the same effect, heading it with a large sum subscribed
among them--a very fortune to the man who should be so lucky as to be
the captor of Carlos.  This proclamation was signed by all the principal
men of the place, and the name of Don Ambrosio figured high upon the
list!  There was even some talk of getting up a volunteer company to
assist the soldiers in the pursuit of the _heretico_ assassin, or rather
to earn the golden price of his capture.

With such a forfeit on his head, it was an enigma how Carlos should be
long alive!

Roblado sat in his quarters busy devising plans for the capture.  He had
already sent his trustiest spies to the lower end of the valley, and
these were to hover day and night in the neighbourhood.  Any information
of the haunts of the cibolero, or of those with whom he was formerly in
correspondence, was to be immediately brought to him, and would be well
paid for.  A watch was placed on the house of the young ranchero, Don
Juan; and though both Vizcarra and Roblado had determined on special
action with regard to him, they agreed upon leaving him undisturbed for
the present, as that might facilitate their plans.  The spies who had
been employed were not soldiers, but men of the town and poor rancheros.
A military force appealing below would frustrate their design.  That,
however, was kept in readiness, but its continued presence near the
rancho, thought Vizcarra and his captain, would only frighten the bird,
and prevent it from returning to its nest.  There was good logic in
this.

Roblado, as stated, was in his quarters, completing his arrangements.  A
knock aroused him from the contemplation of some documents.  They were
communications from his spies, which had just reached the Presidio,
addressed both to himself and the Comandante.  They were concerning the
affair.

"Who is it?" he asked, before giving the privilege to enter.

"I, captain," answered a sharp squeaky voice.

Roblado evidently knew the voice, for he called out--

"Oh! it is you?  Come in, then."

The door opened, and a small dark man, of sharp weasel-like aspect,
entered the room.  He had a skulking shuffling gait, and,
notwithstanding his soldier's dress, his sabre and his spurs, the man
looked mean.  He spoke with a cringing accent, and saluted his officer
with a cringing gesture.  He was just the sort of person to be employed
upon some equivocal service, and by such men as Vizcarra and Roblado;
and in that way he had more than once served them.  It was the soldier
Jose.

"Well! what have you to say?  Have you seen Vicenza?"

"I have, captain.  Last night I met her out."

"Any news?"

"I don't know whether it may be news to the captain; but she has told me
that it was the senorita who sent her home yesterday."

"Her?"

"Yes, captain, the guera."

"Ha! go on!"

"Why, you know when you left her with the alcalde she was offered to
whoever would take her.  Well, a young girl came up and claimed to be an
acquaintance, and a woman who was the girl's mother.  She was given up
to them without more ado, and they took her away to a house in the
chapparal below the town."

"She did not stay there.  I know she's gone down, but I have not yet
heard the particulars.  How did she go?"

"Well, captain; only very shortly after she arrived at the house of the
woman, a carreta came up to the door, driven by a Tagno, and the girl--
that is, the daughter, who is called Josefa--mounted into the carreta,
taking the guera along with her; and off they went down below.

"Now, neither this girl nor her mother ever saw the guera before, and
who does captain think sent them, and the carreta too?"

"Who says Vicenza?"

"The senorita, captain."

"Ha!" sharply exclaimed Roblado.  "Vicenza is sure of that."

"More than that, captain.  About the time the carreta drove away, or a
little after, the senorita left the house on her horse, and with a
common serape over her, and a sombrero on her head, like any ranchera;
and in this--which I take to be a disguise for a lady of quality like
her--she rode off by the back road.  Vicenza, however, thinks that she
turned into the _camino abajo_ after she got past the houses, and
overtook the carreta.  She was gone long enough to have done so."

This communication seemed to make a deep impression upon the listener.
Shadows flitted over his dark brow, and gleams of some new intelligence
or design appeared in his eyes.  He was silent for a moment, engaged in
communicating with his thoughts.  At length he inquired--

"Is that all your information, Jose?"

"All, captain."

"There may be more from the same source.  See Vicenza to-night again.
Tell her to keep a close watch.  If she succeed in discovering that
there is a correspondence going on, she shall be well rewarded, and
_you_ shall not be forgotten.  Find out more about this woman and her
daughter.  Know the Tagno who drove them.  Lose no time about it.  Go,
Jose!"

The minion returned his thanks in a cringing tone, made another cringing
salute, and shuffled out of the room.

As soon as he had left, Roblado sprang to his feet, and, walking about
the room in an agitated manner, uttered his thoughts aloud:--

"By Heaven!  I had not thought of this.  A correspondence, I have no
doubt.  Fiends! such a woman!  She must know all ere this--if the fellow
himself is not deceived by us!  I must watch in that quarter too.  Who
knows but _that_ will be the trap in which we'll take him?  Love is even
a stronger lure than brotherly affection.  Ha! senorita; if this be
true, I'll yet have a purchase upon you that you little expect.  I'll
bring you to terms without the aid of your stupid father!"

After figuring about for some minutes, indulging in these alternate
dreams of vengeance and triumph, he left his room, and proceeded towards
that of the Comandante, for the purpose of communicating to the latter
his new-gotten knowledge.



CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

The house of Don Ambrosio de Cruces was not a town mansion.  It was
suburban--that is, it stood upon the outskirts of the village, some
seven or eight hundred yards from the Plaza.  It was detached from the
other buildings, and at some distance from any of them.  It was neither
a "villa" nor a "cottage."  There are _no_ such buildings in Mexico, nor
anything at all resembling them.  In fact, the architecture of that
country is of unique and uniform style, from north to south, through
some thousand miles of latitude!  The smaller kinds of houses,--the
ranchos of the poorer classes,--show a variety corresponding to the
three thermal divisions arising from different elevation--_caliente_,
_templada_, and _fria_.  In the hot lands of the coast, and some low
valleys in the interior, the rancho is a frail structure of cane and
poles with a thatch of palm-leaves.  On the elevated "valles," or
table-plains--and here, be it observed, dwell most of the population--it
is built of "adobes," and this rule is universal.  On the forest-covered
sides of the more elevated mountains the rancho is a house of logs, a
"log-cabin," with long hanging eaves and shingled roof, differing
entirely from the log-cabin of the American backwoods, and far excelling
the latter in neatness and picturesque appearance.

So much for the "ranchos."  About them there is some variety of style.
Not so with "casas grandes," or houses of the rich.  A sameness
characterises them through thirty degrees of latitude--from one
extremity of Mexico to the other; and, we might almost add, throughout
all Spanish America.  If now and then a "_whimsical_" structure be
observed, you may find, on inquiry, that the owner is some foreigner
resident--an English miner, a Scotch manufacturer, or a German merchant.

These remarks are meant only for the houses of the country.  In small
villages the same style as the country-house is observed, with very
slight modifications; but in large towns, although some of the
characteristics are still retained, there is an approximation to the
architecture of European cities--more particularly, of course, to those
of Spain.

The house of Don Ambrosio differed very little from the general fashion
of "casas grandes" of country style.  It had the same aspect of gaol,
fortress, convent, or workhouse--whichever you please; but this aspect
was considerably lightened by the peculiar colouring of the walls, which
was done in broad vertical bands of red, white, and yellow, alternating
with each other!  The effect produced by this arrangement of gay colours
is quite Oriental, and is a decided relief to the otherwise heavy
appearance of a Mexican dwelling.  In some parts of the country this
fashion is common.

In shape there was no peculiarity.  Standing upon the road in front you
see a long wall, with a large gateway near the middle, and three or four
windows irregularly set.  The windows are shielded with bars of
wrought-iron standing vertically.  That is the "reja."  None of them
have either sash or glass.  The gateway is closed by a heavy wooden
door, strongly clasped and bolted with iron.  This front wall is but one
storey high, but its top is continued so as to form a parapet,
breast-high above the roof, and this gives it a loftier appearance.  The
roof being flat behind, the parapet is not visible from below.  Look
around the corner at either end of this front wall.  You will see no
gable--there is no such thing on a house of the kind we are describing.
In its place you will see a dead wall of the same height as the parapet,
running back for a long distance; and were you to go to the end of it,
and again look around the corner, you would find a similar wall at the
back closing in the parallelogram.

In reality you have not yet seen the true front of Don Ambrosio's house,
if we mean by that the part most embellished.  A Mexican spends but
little thought on the outside appearance of his mansion.

It is only from the courtyard, or "patio," you can get a view of the
front upon which the taste of the owner is displayed, and this often
exhibits both grandeur and elegance.

Let us pass through the gateway, and enter the "patio."  The "portero,"
when summoned by knock or bell, admits us by a small door, forming part
of the great gate already mentioned.  We traverse an arched way, the
"zaguan," running through the breadth of the building, and then we are
in the patio.  From this we have a view of the real front of the house.

The patio itself is paved with painted bricks--a tessellated pavement.
A fountain, with jet and ornamental basin, occupies its centre; and
several trees, well trimmed, stand in large vessels, so that their roots
may not injure the pavement.  Around this court you see the doors of the
different apartments, some of them glazed and tastefully curtained.  The
doors of the "sala," the "cuarto," and the sleeping-rooms, are on three
sides, while the "cocina" (kitchen), the "dispensa" (store-room),
"granero" (granary), with the "caballeriza" and coach-house, make up the
remaining part of the square.

There is still an important portion of the mansion to be spoken of--the
"azotea," or roof.  It is reached by an "escalera," or stone staircase.
It is flat and quite firm, being covered with a cement that is proof
against rain.  It is enclosed by a parapet running all round it--of such
a height as not to hinder the view of the surrounding country, while it
protects those occupying it from the intrusive gaze of persons passing
below.  When the sun is down, or behind a cloud, the azotea is a most
agreeable promenade; and to render it still more so, that over the house
of Don Ambrosio had been arranged so as to resemble a flower-garden.
Richly japanned pots, containing rare flowers, were placed around, and
green boughs and gay blossoms, rising above the top of the wall,
produced a fine effect on viewing the building from without.

But this was not the only garden belonging to the mansion of the rich
miner.  Another, of oblong shape, extended from the rear of the house,
enclosed by a high wall of adobes on either side.  These, ending upon
the bank of the stream, formed the boundary of the garden.  Along the
stream there was no fence, as it was here of sufficient breadth and
depth to form an enclosure of itself.  The garden was of large extent,
including an orchard of fruit-trees at its lower part, and it was
tastefully laid out in walks, flowerbeds, and arbours of different
shapes and sizes.  Don Ambrosio, although but a rich _parvenu_, might
have been supposed to be a man of refined taste by any one viewing this
garden--the more so, as such delightful retreats are by no means common
in that country.  But it was to another mind than his that these shadowy
trees and fragrant arbours owed their existence.  They were the "ideas"
of his fair daughter, many of whose hours were spent beneath their
shade.

To Don Ambrosio the sight of a great cavity in the earth, with huge
quarries of quartz rock or scoria, and a rich "veta" at the back, was
more agreeable than all the flowers in the world.  A pile of "barras de
plata" would be to his eyes more interesting than a whole country
covered with black tulips and blue dahlias.

Not so his fair daughter Catalina.  Her taste was both elevated and
refined.  The thought of wealth, the pride of riches, never entered her
mind.  She would willingly have surrendered all her much-talked-of
inheritance to have shared the humble rancho of him she loved.



CHAPTER FORTY THREE.

It was near sunset.  The yellow orb was hastening to kiss the snowy
summit of the Sierra Blanca, that barred the western horizon.  The white
mantle, that draped the shoulders of the mountain, reflected beautiful
roseate tints deepening into red and purple in the hollows of the
ravines, and seeming all the more lovely from the contrast of the dark
forests that covered the Sierra farther down.

It was a sunset more brilliant than common.  The western sky was filled
with masses of coloured clouds, in which gold and purple and cerulean
blue mingled together in gorgeous magnificence; and in which the eye of
the beholder could not fail to note the outlines of strange forms, and
fancy them bright and glorious beings of another world.  It was a
picture to gladden the eye, to give joy to the heart that was sad, and
make happier the happy.

It was not unobserved.  Eyes were dwelling upon it--beautiful eyes; and
yet there was a sadness in their look that ill accorded with the picture
on which they were gazing.

But those eyes were not drawing their inspiration from the sky-painting
before them.  Though apparently regarding it, the thoughts which gave
them expression were drawn from a far different source.  The heart
within was dwelling upon another object.

The owner of those eyes was a beautiful girl, or rather a fully
developed woman still unmarried.  She was standing upon the azotea of a
noble mansion, apparently regarding the rich sunset, while, in reality,
her thoughts were busy with another theme, and one that was less
pleasant to contemplate.  Even the brilliant glow of the sky, reflected
upon her countenance, did not dissipate the shadows that were passing
over it.  The clouds from within overcame the light from without.  There
were shadows flitting over her heart that corresponded to those that
darkened her fair face.

It was a beautiful face withal, and a beautiful form--tall, majestic, of
soft graces and waving outlines.  The lady was Catalina de Cruces.

She was alone upon the azotea--surrounded only by the plants and
flowers.  Bending over the low parapet that overlooked the garden to the
rear, she at the same time faced toward the sinking orb,--for the garden
extended westward.

Now and then her eyes were lifted to the sky and the sun; but oftener
they sought the shaded coppice of wild-china-trees at the bottom of the
enclosure, through whose slender trunks gleamed the silvery surface of
the stream.  Upon this spot they rested from time to time, with an
expression of strange interest.  No wonder that to those eyes that was
an interesting spot--it was that where love's first vows had been
uttered in her delighted ear--it had been consecrated by a kiss, and in
her thoughts it was hallowed from the "earth's profound" to the high
heaven above her.  No wonder she regarded it as the fairest on earth.
The most famed gardens of the world--even Paradise itself--in her
imagination, had no spot so sweet, no nook so shady, as the little
arbour she had herself trained amid the foliage of those
wild-china-trees.

Why was she regarding it with a look of sadness?  In that very arbour,
and on that very night, did she expect to meet him--the one who had
rendered it sacred.  Why then was she sad?  Such a prospect should have
rendered her countenance radiant with joy.

And so was it, at intervals, when this thought came into her mind; but
there was another--some other thought--that brought those clouds upon
her brow, and imparted that air of uneasy apprehension.  What was that
thought?

In her hand she held a bandolon.  She flung herself upon a bench, and
began to play some old Spanish air.  The effort was too much for her.
Her thoughts wandered from the melody, and her fingers from the strings.

She laid down the instrument, and, again rising to her feet, paced
backwards and forwards upon the azotea.  Her walk was irregular.  At
intervals she stopped, and, lowering her eyes, seemed to think intently
on something that was absent.  Then she would start forward, and stop
again in the same manner as before.  This she repeated several times,
without uttering either word or exclamation.

Once she continued her walk all around the azotea, casting a
scrutinising look among the plants and flower-pots on both sides, as if
in search of something; but whatever it was, she was unsuccessful, as
nothing appeared to arrest her attention.

She returned once more, and took up the bandolon.  But her fingers had
hardly touched the strings before she laid the instrument down again,
and rose from the bench, as if some sudden resolution had taken
possession of her.

"I never thought of that--I may have dropped it in the garden!" she
muttered to herself, as she glided toward a small escalera that led down
into the patio.

From this point an avenue communicated with the garden; and the next
moment she had passed through this and was tripping over the sanded
walks, bending from side to side, and peeping behind every plant and
bush that could have concealed the object of her search.

She explored every part of the enclosure, and lingered a moment in the
arbour among the china-trees--as if she enjoyed that spot more than any
other--but she came back at length with the same anxious expression,
that told she was not rewarded by the recovery of whatever she had lost.

The lady once more returned to the azotea--once more took up the
bandolon; but after a few touches of the strings, laid it down, and
again rose to her feet.  Again she soliloquised.

"_Carrambo_! it is very strange!--neither in my chamber--the sala, the
cuarto, the azotea, the garden!--where can it be?  O Dios! if it should
fall into the hands of papa!  It is too intelligible--it could not fail
to be understood--no--no--no!  O Dios! if it should reach other hands!--
those of _his_ enemies!  It names to-night--true, it does not tell the
place, but the time is mentioned--the place would be easily discovered.
Oh! that I knew where to communicate with him!  But I know not, and he
will come.  _Ay de mi_! it cannot be prevented now.  I must hope no
enemy has got it.  But where can it be?  Madre de Dios! where can it
be?"

All these phrases were uttered in a tone and emphasis that showed the
concern of the speaker at the loss of some object that greatly
interested her.  That object was no other than the note brought by
Josefa, and written by Carlos the cibolero, in which the assignation for
that night had been appointed.  No wonder she was uneasy at its loss!
The wording not only compromised herself, but placed the life of her
lover in extreme peril.  This it was that was casting the dark shadows
over her countenance--this it was that was causing her to traverse the
azotea and the garden in such anxious search.

"I must ask Vicenza," she continued.  "I like not to do it, for I have
lost confidence in her of late.  Something has changed this girl.  She
used to be frank and honest, but now she has grown false and
hypocritical.  Twice have I detected her in the act of deceiving me.
What does it mean?"

She paused a moment as if in thought.  "I must ask her notwithstanding.
She may have found the paper, and, not deeming it of any use may have
thrown it in the fire.  Fortunately she does not read, but she has to do
with others who can.  Ha!  I forgot her soldier sweetheart!  If she
should have found it, and shown it to him!  _Dios de mi alma_!"

This supposition seemed a painful one, for it caused the lady's heart to
beat louder, and her breathing became short and quick.

"That would be terrible!" she continued,--"that would be the very worst
thing that could happen.  I do not like that soldier--he appears mean
and cunning and I have heard is a bad fellow, though favoured by the
Comandante.  God forfend he should have gotten this paper!  I shall lose
no more time.  I shall call Vicenza, and question her."

She stepped forward to the parapet that overlooked the patio.

"Vicenza!--Vicenza!"

"_Aqui, Senorita_," answered a voice from the interior of the house.

"_Ven aca_!--_Ven aca_!"  (Come hither.)

"_Si, Senorita_."

"_Anda!  Anda_!"  (Quickly.)

A girl, in short bright-coloured nagua, and white chemisette without
sleeves, came out into the patio, and climbed up the escalera that led
to the roof.

She was a _mestiza_, or half-blood, of Indian and Spanish mixture, as
her brownish-white skin testified.  She was not ill-looking; but there
was an expression upon her countenance that precluded the idea of either
virtue, honesty, or amiability.  It was a mixed expression of malice and
cunning.  Her manner, too, was bold and offensive, like that of one who
had been guilty of some known crime, and had become reckless.  It was
only of late she had assumed that tone, and her mistress had observed it
among other changes.

"_Que quiere V., Senorita_?"  (What want you, my lady?)

"Vicenza, I have lost a small piece of paper.  It was folded in an
oblong shape--not like a letter, but this--"

Here a piece of paper, similarly put up, was held out for the inspection
of the girl.

"Have you seen anything of it?"

"No, Senorita," was the prompt and ready answer.

"Perhaps you may have swept it out, or thrown it into the fire?  It
looked insignificant, and, indeed, was not of much importance, but there
were some patterns upon it I wished to copy.  Do you think it has been
destroyed?"

"I know not that, Senorita.  I know that _I_ did not destroy it.  I
neither swept it out nor threw it into the fire.  I should not do that
with any paper, as I cannot read myself, and might destroy something
that was valuable."

Whatever truth there was in the last part of her harangue, the mestiza
knew that its earlier declarations were true enough.  She had not
destroyed it, either by sweeping out or burning.

Her answer was delivered with an ingenuous _naivete_, accompanied with a
slight accent of anger, as though she was not over-pleased at being
suspected of negligence.

Whether her mistress noticed the latter did not appear from her answer,
but she expressed herself satisfied.

"It is of no consequence, then," said she.  "You may go, Vicenza."

The girl walked off, looking sulky.  When her head was just disappearing
below the top of the escalera, her face was towards her mistress, whose
back was now turned to her.  A scornful pouting of the lips, accompanied
by a demoniac smile, was visible upon it.  It was evident from that look
that she knew something more of the lost paper than was admitted in her
late declaration.

Catalina's gaze was once more turned upon the setting sun.  In a few
minutes he would disappear behind the snowy ridge of the mountain.  Then
a few hours, and then--moments of bliss!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Roblado was seated in his cuartel as before.  As before, a tiny knock
sounded upon the door.  As before, he called out, "Quien es?" and was
answered, "Yo!" and, as before, he recognised the voice and gave the
order for its owner to enter.  As before, it was the soldier Jose, who,
in a cringing voice and with a cringing salute, approached his officer.

"Well, Jose, what news?"

"Only this," replied the soldier, holding out a slip of paper folded
into an oblong shape.

"What is it?" demanded Roblado.  "Who is it from?" in the same breath.

"The captain will understand it better than I can, as I can't read; but
it comes from the Senorita, and looks inside like a letter.  The
Senorita got it from somebody at church yesterday morning: so thinks
Vicenza, for she saw her read it as soon as she got back from morning
prayers.  Vicenza thinks that the girl Josefa brought it up the valley,
but the captain most likely can tell for himself."

Roblado had not listened to half of this talk; but had instead been
swallowing the contents of the paper.  As soon as he had got to the end
of it he sprang from his chair as if a needle had been stuck into him,
and paced the room in great agitation.

"Quick! quick, Jose!" he exclaimed.  "Send Gomez here.  Say nothing to
any one.  Hold yourself in readiness--I shall want you too.  Send Gomez
instantly.  _Vaya_!"

The soldier made a salute less cringing because more hurried, and
precipitately retired from the apartment.  Roblado continued--

"By Heaven! this is a piece of luck!  Who ever failed to catch a fool
when love was his lure?  This very night, too, and at midnight!  I shall
have time to prepare.  Oh! if I but knew the place!  'Tis not given
here."

Again he read over the note.

"Carajo, no! that is unfortunate.  What's to be done?  I must not go
guessing in the dark!  Ha!  I have it!  _She_ shall be watched!--watched
to the very spot!  Vicenza can do that while we lie somewhere in ambush.
The girl can bring us to it.  We shall have time to surround them.
Their interview will last long enough for that.  We shall take them in
the very moment of their bliss.  Hell and furies! to think of it--this
low dog--this butcher of buffaloes--to thwart me in my purposes!  But
patience, Roblado! patience! to-night--to-night!--"

A knocking at the door.  Sergeant Gomez was admitted.

"Gomez, get ready twenty of your men! picked fellows, do you hear?  Be
ready by eleven o'clock.  You have ample time, but see that you be ready
the moment I call you.  Not a word to any one without.  Let the men
saddle up and be quiet about it.  Load your carbines.  There's work for
you.  You shall know what it is by and by.  Go! get ready!"

Without saying a word, the sergeant went off to obey the order.

"Curses on the luck! if I but knew the place, or anything near it.
Would it be about the house? or in the garden?  Maybe outside--in the
country somewhere?  That is not unlikely.  He would hardly venture so
near the town, lest some one might recognise him or his horse.  Death to
that horse.  No, no!  I shall have that horse yet, or I much mistake.
Oh! if I could find this place before the hour of meeting, then my game
were sure.  But no, nothing said of the place--yes, the _old_ place.
Hell and furies! they have met before--often--often--oh!"

A groan of agony broke from the speaker, and he paced to and fro like
one bereft of his senses.

"Shall I tell Vizcarra now," he continued, "or wait till it is over?  I
shall wait.  It will be a dainty bit of news along with supper.  Perhaps
I may garnish the table with the ears of the cibolero.  Ha! ha! ha!"

And uttering a diabolical laugh, the ruffian took down his sabre and
buckled the belt around his waist.  He then armed himself with a pair of
heavy pistols; and, after looking to the straps of his spurs, strode out
of the room.



CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.

It wanted but an hour of midnight.  There was a moon in the sky, but so
near the horizon, that the bluff bounding the southern side of the
valley threw out a shadow to the distance of many yards upon the plain.

Parallel to the line of the cliffs, and close in to their base, a
horseman could be seen advancing up the valley from the lower end of the
settlement.  His cautious pace, and the anxious glances which he at
intervals cast before him, showed that he was travelling with some
apprehension, and was desirous of remaining unseen.  It was evident,
too, that this was his object in keeping within the shadow of the cliff;
for on arriving at certain points where the precipice became slanting
and cast no shadow, he would halt for a while, and, after carefully
reconnoitring the ground, pass rapidly over it.  Concealment could be
his only object in thus closely hugging the bluffs, for a much better
road could have been found at a little distance out from them.

After travelling for many miles in this way, the horseman at length
arrived opposite the town, which still, however, was three miles distant
from the cliff.  From this point a road led off to the town,
communicating between it and a pass up the bluffs to the left.

The horseman halted, and gazed awhile along the road, as if undecided
whether to take it or not.  Having resolved in the negative, he moved
on, and rode nearly a mile farther under the shadow of the bluffs.
Again he halted, and scanned the country to his right.  A bridle-path
seemed to run in the direction of the town, or towards a point somewhat
above it.  After a short examination the horseman seemed to recognise
this path as one he was in search of, and, heading his horse into it, he
parted from the shadow of the bluffs, and rode out under the full
moonlight.  This, shining down upon him, showed a young man of fine
proportions, dressed in ranchero costume, and mounted upon a noble
steed, whose sleek black coat glittered under the silvery light.  It was
easy to know the rider.  His bright complexion, and light-coloured hair
curling thickly under the brim of his sombrero, were characteristics not
to be mistaken in that land of dark faces.  He was Carlos the cibolero.
It could be seen now that a large wolf-like dog trotted near the heels
of the horse.  That dog was Cibolo.

Advancing in the direction of the town, the caution of the horseman
seemed to increase.

The country before him was not quite open.  It was level; but
fortunately for him, its surface was studded with copse-like islands of
timber, and here and there straggling patches of chapparal through,
which the path led.  Before entering these the dog preceded him, but
without noise or bark; and when emerging into the open plain again, the
horseman each time halted and scanned the ground that separated him from
the next copse, before attempting to pass over it.

Proceeding in this way, he arrived at length within several hundred
yards of the outskirts of the town, and could see the walls, with the
church cupola shining over the tops of the trees.  One line of wall on
which his eyes were fixed lay nearer than the rest.  He recognised its
outline.  It was the parapet over the house of Don Ambrosio--in the rear
of which he had now arrived.

He halted in a small copse of timber, the last upon the plain.  Beyond,
in the direction of Don Ambrose's house, the ground was open and level
up to the bank of the stream already described as running along the
bottom of the garden.  The tract was a meadow belonging to Don Ambrosio,
and used for pasturing the horses of his establishment.  It was
accessible to these by means of a rude bridge that crossed the stream
outside the walls of the garden.  Another bridge, however, joined the
garden itself to the meadow.  This was much slighter and of neater
construction--intended only for foot-passengers.  It was, in fact, a
mere private bridge, by which the fair daughter of Don Ambrosio could
cross to enjoy her walk in the pleasant meadow beyond.  Upon this little
bridge, at its middle part, was a gate with lock and key, to keep
intruders from entering the precincts of the garden.

This bridge was not over three hundred yards from the copse in which
Carlos had halted, and nothing intervened but the darkness to prevent
him from having a view of it.  However, as the moon was still up, he
could distinctly see the tall posterns, and light-coloured palings of
the gate, glimmering in her light.  The stream he could not see--as at
this point it ran between high banks--and the garden itself was hidden
from view by the grove of cotton-woods and china-trees growing along its
bottom.

After arriving in the copse Carlos dismounted; and having led his horse
into the darkest shadow of the trees, there left him.  He did not tie
him to anything, but merely rested the bridle over the pommel of the
saddle, so that it might not draggle upon the ground.  He had long ago
trained the noble animal to remain where he was placed without other
fastening than this.

This arrangement completed, he walked forward to the edge of the
underwood, and there stood with his eyes fixed upon the bridge and the
dark grove beyond it.  It was not the first time for him to go through
all the manoeuvres here described--no, not by many--but, perhaps, on no
other occasion were his emotions so strong and strange as on the
present.

He had prepared himself for the interview he was now expecting--he had
promised himself a frankness of speech his modesty had never before
permitted him to indulge in--he had resolved on proposals--the rejection
or acceptance of which might determine his future fate.  His heart beat
within his breast so as to be audible to his own ears.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Perfect stillness reigned through the town.  The inhabitants had all
retired to their beds, and not a light appeared from door or window.
All were close shut and fast bolted.  No one appeared in the streets,
except the half-dozen "serenos" who formed the night-watch of the place.
These could be seen muffled up in their dark cloaks, sitting half
asleep on the banquetas of houses, and grasping in one hand their huge
halberds, while their lanterns rested upon the pavement at their feet.

Perfect stillness reigned around the mansion of Don Ambrosio.  The
great gate of the zaguan was closed and barred, and the portero had
retired within his "lodge," thus signifying that all the inmates of the
dwelling had returned home.  If silence denoted sleep, all were asleep;
but a ray of light escaping through the silken curtains of a glass door,
and falling dimly upon the pavement of the patio, showed that one at
least still kept vigil.  That light proceeded from the chamber of
Catalina.

All at once the stillness of the night was broken by the loud tolling of
a bell.  It was the clock of the parroquia announcing the hour of
midnight.

The last stroke had not ceased to reverberate when the light in the
chamber appeared to be suddenly extinguished--for it no longer glowed
through the curtain.

Shortly after, the glass door was silently opened from the inside; and a
female form closely muffled came forth, and glided with stealthy and
sinuous step around the shadowy side of the patio.  The tall elegant
figure could not be hidden by the disguise of the ample cloak in which
it was muffled, and the graceful gait appeared even when constrained and
stealthy.  It was the Senorita herself.

Having passed round the patio, she entered the avenue that led to the
garden.  Here a heavy door barred the egress from the house, and before
this she stopped.  Only a moment.  A key appeared from under her cloak,
and the large bolt with some difficulty yielded to her woman's strength.
It did not yield silently.  The rusty iron sounded as it sprang back
into the lock, causing her to start and tremble.  She even returned back
through the avenue, to make sure whether any one had heard it; and,
standing in the dark entrance, glanced round the patio.  Had she not
heard a door closing as she came back?  She fancied so; and alarmed by
it, she stood for some time gazing upon the different doors that opened
upon the court.  They were all close shut, her own not excepted, for she
had closed it on coming out.  Still her fancy troubled her, and, but
half satisfied, she returned to the gate.

This she opened with caution, and, passing through, traversed the rest
of the avenue, and came out in the open ground.  Keeping under the
shadow of the trees and shrubbery, she soon reached the grove at the
bottom of the garden.  Here she paused for a moment, and, looking
through the stems of the trees, scanned the open surface in the
direction of the copse where Carlos had halted.

No object was visible but the outlines of the timber island itself,
under whose shadow a human form in dark clothing could not have been
recognised at such a distance.

After pausing a moment she glided among the trees of the grove, and the
next moment stood, upon the centre and highest point of the bridge in
front of the little gate.  Here she again stopped, drew from under her
cloak a white cambric handkerchief, and, raising herself to her full
height, held it spread out between her hands.

The air was filled with fire-flies, whose light sparkled thickly against
the dark background of the copsewood; but these did not prevent her from
distinguishing a brighter flash, like the snapping of a lucifer-match,
that appeared among them.  Her signal was answered!

She lowered the handkerchief, and, taking out a small key, applied it to
the lock of the gate.  This was undone in a second, and, having thrown
open the wicket, she retired within the shadow of the grove, and stood
waiting.

Even in that dark shadow her eyes sparkled with the light of love, as
she saw a form--the form of a man on foot, parting from the copse, and
coming in the direction of the bridge.  It was to her the dearest on
earth; and she awaited the approach with a flushed cheek and a heart
full of joyful emotion.



CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.

It was no fancy of Catalina's that she heard the shutting of a door as
she returned up the avenue.  A door in reality had been closed at that
moment,--the door that led to the sleeping apartments of the
maidservants.  Had her steps been quicker, she might have seen some one
rush across the patio and enter this door.  But she arrived too late for
this.  The door was closed, and all was silent again.  It might have
been fancy, thought she.

It was no fancy.  From the hour when the family had retired to rest, the
door of Catalina's chamber had been watched.  An eye had been bent all
the time upon that ray of light escaping through the curtained glass,--
the eye of the girl Vicenza.

During the early part of the evening the maid had asked leave to go out
for a while.  It had been granted.  She had been gone for nearly an
hour.  Conducted by the soldier Jose, she had had an interview with
Roblado.  At that interview all had been arranged between them.

She was to watch her mistress from the house, and follow her to the
place of assignation.  When that should be determined she was to return
with all haste to Roblado--who appointed a place of meeting her--and
then guide him and his troop to the lovers.  This, thought Roblado,
would be the surest plan to proceed upon.  He had taken his measures
accordingly.

The door of the maid's sleeping-room was just opposite that of
Catalina's chamber.  Through the key-hole the girl had seen the light go
out, and the Senorita gliding around the patio.  She had watched her
into the avenue, and then gently opening her own door and stolen after
her.

At the moment the Senorita had succeeded in unlocking the great gate of
the garden, the mestiza was peeping around the wall at the entrance of
the avenue; but on hearing the other return,--for it was by the sound of
her footsteps she was warned,--the wily spy had darted back into her
room, and closed the door behind her.

It was some time before she dared venture out again, as the key-hole no
longer did her any service.  She kept her eye to it, however, and,
seeing that her mistress did not return to her chamber, she concluded
that the latter had continued on into the garden.  Again gently opening
her door, she stole forth, and, on tiptoe approaching the avenue, peeped
into it.  It was no longer dark.  The gate was open, and the moon
shining in lit up the whole passage.  It was evident, therefore, that
the Senorita had gone through, and was now in the garden.

Was she in the garden?  The mestiza remembered the bridge, and knew that
her mistress carried the key of the wicket, and often used it both by
day and night.  She might by this have crossed the bridge, and got far
beyond into the open country.  She--the spy--might not find the
direction she had taken, and thus spoil the whole plan.

With these thoughts passing through her mind, the girl hurried through
the avenue, and, crouching down, hastened along the walk as fast as she
was able.

Seeing no one among the fruit-trees and flowerbeds, she began to
despair; but the thick grove at the bottom of the garden gave her
promise--that was a likely place of meeting--capital for such a purpose,
as the mestiza, experienced in such matters, well knew.

To approach the grove, however, presented a difficulty.  There was a
space of open ground--a green parterre--between it and the flowerbeds.
Any one, already in the grove, could perceive the approach of another in
that direction, and especially under a bright moonlight.  This the
mestiza saw, and it compelled her to pause and reflect how she was to
get nearer.

But one chance seemed to offer.  The high adobe wall threw a shadow of
some feet along one side of the open ground.  In this shadow it might be
possible to reach the timber unobserved.  The girl resolved to attempt
it.

Guided by the instinctive cunning of her race, she dropped down flat
upon her breast; and, dragging herself over the grass, she reached the
selvedge of the grove, just in the rear of the arbour.  There she
paused, raised her head, and glanced through the leafy screen that
encircled the arbour.  She saw what she desired.

Catalina was at this moment upon the bridge, and above the position of
the mestiza--so that the latter could perceive her form outlined against
the blue of the sky.  She saw her hold aloft the white kerchief.  She
guessed that it was a signal--she saw the flash in answer to it, and
then observed her mistress undo the lock and fling the wicket open.

The cunning spy was now sure that the place of meeting was to be the
grove itself, and might have returned with that information; but Roblado
had distinctly ordered her not to leave until she saw the meeting
itself, and was certain of the spot.  She therefore remained where she
was, and awaited the further proceedings of the lovers.

Carlos, on perceiving the signal, had answered it by flashing some
powder already prepared.  He lost no time in obeying the well-known
summons.  A single moment by the side of his horse--a whisper which the
latter well understood--and he parted from the copse, Cibolo following
at his heels.

On reaching the end of the bridge he bent down, and, addressing some
words in a low voice to the dog, proceeded to cross over.  The animal
did not follow him, but lay down on the opposite bank of the stream.

The next moment the lovers were together.

From the spot where she lay the mestiza witnessed their greeting.  The
moon shone upon their faces--the fair skin and curly locks of Carlos
were distinctly visible under the light.  The girl knew the cibolero--it
was he.

She had seen all that was necessary for Roblado to know.  The grove was
the place of meeting.  It only remained for her to get back to the
officer, and give the information.

She was about to crawl away, and had already half risen, when to her
dismay, the lovers appeared coming through the grove, and towards the
very arbour behind which she lay!

Their faces were turned towards the spot where she was crouching.  If
she rose to her feet, or attempted to go off, she could not fail to be
seen by one or other of them.

She had no alternative but to remain where she was--at least until some
better opportunity offered of getting away--and with this intention she
again squatted down close under the shadow of the arbour.

A moment after the lovers entered, and seated themselves upon the
benches with which the little bower was provided.



CHAPTER FORTY SIX.

The hearts of both were so agitated that for some moments neither gave
utterance to their thoughts.  Catalina was the first to speak.

"Your sister?" she inquired.

"She is better.  I have had the rancho restored.  They have returned to
it, and the old scenes seem to have worked a miracle upon her.  Her
senses came at once, and relapse only at long intervals.  I have hopes
it will be all well again."

"I am glad to hear this.  Poor child! she must have suffered sadly in
the hands of these rude savages."

"Rude savages!  Ay, Catalina, you have styled them appropriately, though
you little know of whom you are speaking."

"Of whom?" echoed the lady, in surprise.  Up to this moment even she had
no other than the popular and universal belief that Carlos' sister had
been a captive in the hands of the Indians!

"It was partly for this that I have sought an interview to-night.  I
could not exist without explaining to you my late conduct, which must
have appeared to you a mystery.  It shall be so no longer.  Hear me,
Catalina!"

Carlos revealed the horrid plot, detailing every circumstance, to the
utter astonishment of his fair companion.

"Oh! fiends! fiends!" she exclaimed; "who could have imagined such
atrocity?  Who would suppose that on the earth were wretches like these?
But that _you_, dear Carlos, have told me, I could not have believed in
such villainy!  I knew that both were bad; I have heard many a tale of
the vileness of these two men; but this is wickedness beyond the power
of fancy!  _Santisima Madre_! what men! what monsters!  It is
incredible!"

"You know now with what justice I am called a murderer?"

"Oh, dear Carlos! think not of that.  I never gave it a thought.  I knew
you had some cause just and good.  Fear not!  The world shall yet know
all--"

"The world!" interrupted Carlos, with a sneer.  "For me there is no
world.  I have no home.  Even among those with whom I have been brought
up, I have been but a stranger--a heretic outcast.  Now I am worse--a
hunted outlaw with a price upon my head, and a good large one too.  In
truth, I never thought I was worth so much before!"  Here a laugh
escaped from the speaker; but his merriment was of short duration.  He
continued--

"No world have I but you, Catalina,--and you no longer except in my
heart.  I must leave you and go far away.  Death--worse than death--
awaits me here.  I must go hence.  I must return to the people from whom
my parents are sprung--to our long forgotten kindred.  Perhaps there I
may find a new home and new friends, but happiness I cannot without
you--No, never!"

Catalina was silent, with tearful eyes bent upon the ground.  She
trembled at the thought that was passing in her mind.  She feared to
give it expression.  But it was no time for the affectation of false
modesty, for idle bashfulness; and neither were her characteristics.
Upon a single word depended the happiness of her life--of her lover's.
Away with womanly coyness! let the thought be spoken!

She turned toward her lover, took his hand in hers, leant forward till
her lips were close to his, and, looking in his face, said in a soft,
but firm voice--

"Carlos! is it your wish that _I_ go with you?"

In a moment his arms were around her, and their lips had met.

"O Heavens!" he exclaimed; "is this possible? do I hear aright?  Dearest
Catalina!  It was this I would have proposed, but I dared not do it.  I
feared to make the proposal, so wild does it seem.  What! forsake all
for me?  Oh, _querida! querida_!  Tell me that this is what your words
mean!  Say you will go with me!"

"_I will_!" was the short but firm reply.

"O God!  I am too happy--a week of terrible suffering, and I am again
happy.  But a week ago, Catalina, and I was happy.  I had met with a
strange adventure, one that promised fortune.  I was full of hope--hope
of winning you; not you, _querida_, but your father.  Of winning him by
gold.  See!"  Here the speaker held forth his hand filled with shining
ore.  "It is gold.  Of this I have discovered a mine, and I had hoped
with it to have rivalled your father in his wealth, and then to have won
his consent.  Alas! alas! that is now hopeless, but your words have
given me new happiness.  Think not of the fortune you leave behind.  I
know you do not, dear Catalina.  I shall give you one equal to it--
perhaps far greater.  I know where this precious trash is to be
procured, but I shall tell you all when we have time.  To-night--"

He was interrupted by Catalina.  Her quick ear had caught a sound that
appeared odd to her.  It was but a slight rustling among the leaves near
the back of the arbour, and might have been caused by the wind, had
there been any.  But not a breath was stirring.  Something else had
caused it.  What could it be?

After a moment or two both stepped out, and examined the bushes whence
the sound was supposed to have proceeded; but nothing was to be seen.
They looked around and up towards the garden--there was no appearance of
anything that could have caused the noise!  It was now much darker than
when they had entered the arbour.  The moon had gone down, and the
silvery light had turned to grey; but it was still clear enough to have
distinguished any large object at several yards distance.  Catalina
could not be mistaken.  She had heard a rustling sound to a certainty.
Could it have been the dog?  Carlos stepped forward on the bridge.  It
was not--the animal still lay where he had been placed: it could not
have been he!  What then?  Some lizard? perhaps a dangerous serpent?

At all events they would not again enter the arbour but remained
standing outside.  Still Catalina was not without apprehensions, for she
now remembered the loss of the note, and, later still, the shutting of
the door, both of which she hastily communicated to her companion.

Hitherto Carlos had paid but little attention to what he believed to be
some natural occurrence--the fluttering of a bird which had been
disturbed by them, or the gliding of a snake or lizard.  But the
information now given made a different impression upon him.  Used to
Indian wiles, he was a ready reasoner, and he perceived at once that
there might be something sinister in the sound which had been heard.  He
resolved, therefore, to examine the ground more carefully.

Once more he proceeded to the back of the arbour, and, dropping to his
knees, scanned the grass and bushes.  In a moment he raised his head
with an exclamation of surprise.

"As I live, Catalina, you were right!  Some one has been here, beyond a
doubt!  Some one has lain on this very spot!  Where can they have gone
to?  By Heaven, it was a woman!  Here is the trail of her dress!"

"Vicenza!" exclaimed the lady.  "It can be no other--my maid, Vicenza!
_Dios de mi alma_! she has heard every word!"

"No doubt it was Vicenza.  She has watched and followed you from the
house.  What could have tempted her to such an act?"

"_Ay de mi_!  Heaven only knows: her conduct has been very strange of
late.  It is quite annoying!  Dear Carlos!" she continued, changing her
tone of regret to one of anxiety, "you must stay no longer.  Who knows
what she may do?  Perhaps summon my father!  Perhaps still worse--
Santisima Virgen! may it not be!"

Here Catalina hastily communicated the fact of Vicenza's intimacy with
the soldier Jose, as well as other circumstances relating to the girl,
and urged upon her lover the necessity of instant departure.

"I shall go then," said he.  "Not that I much fear them; it is too dark
for their carbines, and their sabres will never reach me, while my brave
steed stands yonder ready to obey my call.  But it is better for me to
go.  There may be something in it.  I cannot explain curiosity that
attempts so much as this girl.  I shall go at once then."

And so Carlos had resolved.  But much remained to be said: fresh vows of
love to be pronounced; an hour to be fixed for a future meeting--perhaps
the last before taking the final step--their flight across the great
plains.

More than once had Carlos placed his foot upon the bridge, and more than
once had he returned to have another sweet word--another parting kiss.

The final "adios" had at length been exchanged; the lovers had parted
from each other; Catalina had turned towards the house; and Carlos was
advancing to the bridge with the intention of crossing, when a growl
from Cibolo caused him to halt and listen.

Again the dog growled, this time more fiercely, following with a series
of earnest barks, that told his master some danger was nigh.

The first thought of the latter was to rush across the bridge, and make
towards his steed.  Had he done so, he would have had time enough to
escape; but the desire to warn her, so that she might hasten to the
house, impelled him to turn back through the grove.  She had already
reached the open parterre, and was crossing it, when the barking of the
dog caused her to stop, and the moment after Carlos came up.  But he had
not addressed a word to her before the trampling of horses sounded
outside the adobe walls of the garden--horsemen galloped down on both
sides, while the confused striking of hoofs showed that some were
halting outside, while others deployed around the enclosure.  The
rattling of the timbers of the large bridge was heard almost at the same
instant; then the dog breaking into a fierce attack; and then, through
the stems of the trees, the dark forms of horsemen became visible upon
the opposite bank of the stream.  The garden was surrounded!



CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

Long after the lovers had entered the arbour the mestiza had remained in
her squatting attitude, listening to the conversation, of which not a
word escaped her.  It was not, however, her interest in that which bound
her to the spot, but her fear of being discovered should she attempt to
leave it.  She had reason while it was still moonlight, for the open
ground she must pass over was distinctly visible from the arbour.  It
was only after the moon went down that she saw the prospect of retiring
unseen; and, choosing a moment when the lovers had their faces turned
from her, she crawled a few yards back, rose to her feet, and ran nimbly
off in the darkness.

Strange to say, the rustling heard by the senorita was not made by the
girl at the moment of her leaving the arbour.  It was caused by a twig
which she had bent behind a branch, the better to conceal herself, and
this releasing itself had sprung back to its place.  That was why no
object was visible to the lovers, although coming hastily out of the
arbour.  The spy at that instant was beyond the reach of sight as well
as hearing.  She had got through the avenue before the twig moved.

She did not stop for a moment.  She did not return to her apartment, but
crossing the patio hastily entered the zaguan.  This she traversed with
stealthy steps, as if afraid to awake the portero.

On reaching the gate she drew from her pocket a key.  It was not the key
of the main lock, but of the lesser one, belonging to the postern door
which opened through the great gate.

This key she had secured at an earlier hour of the evening, for the very
use she was now about to make of it.

She placed it in the lock, and then shot the bolt, using all the care
she could to prevent it from making a noise.  She raised the latch with
like caution; and then, opening the door, stepped gently to the outside.
She next closed the door after her, slowly and silently; and this done,
she ran with all her speed along the road towards some woods that were
outside the town, and not far from the house of Don Ambrosio.

It was in these woods that Roblado held his men in ambush.  He had
brought them thither at a late hour, and by a circuitous route, so that
no one should see them as they entered the timber, and thus prevent the
possibility of a frustration of his plans.  Here he was waiting the
arrival of his spy.

The girl soon reached the spot, and in a few minutes detailed to the
officer the whole of what she had witnessed.  What she had heard there
was no time to tell, for she communicated to Roblado how she had been
detained, and the latter saw there was not a moment to be lost.  The
interview might end before he should be ready, and his prey might still
escape him.

Had Roblado felt more confidence as to time he would now have acted
differently.  He would have sent some men by a lower crossing, and let
them approach the bottom of the garden directly from the meadow; he
would, moreover, have spent more time and caution about the "surround."

But he saw he might be too late, should he adopt this surer course.  A
quicker one recommended itself, and he at once gave the orders to his
followers.  These were divided into two parties of different sizes.
Each was to take a side of the garden, and deploy along the wall, but
the larger party was to drop only a few of its men, while the rest were
to ride hastily over the greater bridge, and gallop round to the bottom
of the garden.  Roblado himself was to lead this party, whose duty would
likely be of most importance.  As the leader well knew, the garden walls
could not be scaled without a ladder, and the cibolero, if found within
the garden, would attempt to escape by the bridge at the bottom.  Lest
he might endeavour to get through the avenue and off by the front of the
house, the girl Vicenza was to conduct Gomez with several men on foot
through the patio, and guide them to the avenue entrance.

The plan was well enough conceived.  Roblado knew the ground well.  He
had often strolled through that garden, and its walls and approaches
were perfectly familiar to him.  Should he be enabled to surround it
before the cibolero could got notice of their approach, he was sure of
his victim.  The latter must either be killed or captured.

In five minutes after the arrival of the spy he had communicated the
whole of their duties to the men; and in five minutes more they had
ridden out of the woods, crossed the small tract that separated them
from the house, and were in the act of surrounding the garden!  It was
at this moment that the dog Cibolo first uttered his growl of alarm.

"Fly--fly!" cried Catalina as she saw her lover approach.  "Oh! do not
think of me!  They dare not take my life.  I have committed no offence.
Oh, Carlos, leave me! fly!  _Madre de Dios_! they come this way!"

As she spoke a number of dark forms were seen entering from the avenue,
and coming down the garden.  Their scabbards clanked among the bushes as
they rushed through them.  They were soldiers on foot!  Several remained
by the entrance, while the rest ran forward.

Carlos had for a moment contemplated escape in that direction.  It
occurred to him, if he could get up to the house and on the azotea, he
might drop off on either side, and, favoured by the darkness, return to
the meadow at some distant point.  This idea vanished the moment he saw
that the entrance was occupied.  He glanced to the walls.  They were too
high to be scaled.  He would be attacked while attempting it.  No other
chance offered but to cut his way through by the bridge, he now saw the
error he had committed in returning.  She was in no danger--at least in
no peril of her life.  Indeed her greater danger would arise from his
remaining near her.  He should have crossed the bridge at first.  He was
now separated from his horse.  He might summon the latter by his call--
he knew that--but it would only bring the noble animal within reach of
his foes--perhaps to be captured.  That would be as much as taking his
own life.  No: he could not summon his steed from where he was, and he
did not utter the signal.  What was he to do?  To remain by the side of
Catalina, to be surrounded and captured, perhaps cut down like a dog?
To imperil her life as well?--No.  He must make a desperate struggle to
get out of the enclosure, to reach the open country if possible, and
then--

His thoughts went no farther.  He cried out--

"Querida, farewell!  I must leave you--do not despair.  If I die, I
shall carry your love to heaven!  Farewell, farewell!"

These words were uttered in the parting haste of the moment, and he had
sprung away so suddenly that he did not hear the answering farewell.

The moment he was gone the lady dropped to her knees, and with hands
clasped, and eyes raised to heaven, offered her prayer for his safety.

Half-a-dozen springs brought Carlos once more under the shadow of the
grove.  He saw his foes on the opposite bank, and from their voices he
could tell there were many of them.  They were talking loudly and
shouting directions to one another.  He could distinguish the voice of
Roblado above the rest.  He was calling upon some of the men to dismount
and follow him over the bridge.  He was himself on foot, for the purpose
of crossing.

Carlos saw no other prospect of escape than by making a quick rush
across the bridge, and cutting his way through the crowd.  By that means
he might reach the open plain, and fight his way until his horse could
come up.  Once in the saddle he would have laughed at their attempts to
take him.  It was a desperate resolve,--a perilous running of the
gauntlet,--almost certain death; but still more certain death was the
alternative if he remained where he was.

There was no time for hesitation.  Already several men had dismounted,
and were making towards the bridge.  He must cross before they had
reached it; one was already upon it.  He must be beaten back.

Carlos, cocking his pistol, rushed forward to the gate.  The man had
reached it from the other side.  They met face to face, with the gate
still shut between them.  Carlos saw that his antagonist was Roblado
himself!

Not a word was spoken between them.  Roblado also had his pistol in
readiness and fired first, but missed his aim.  He perceived this, and,
dreading the fire from his adversary, he staggered back to the bank,
shouting to his followers to discharge their carbines.

Before they could obey the order, the crack of the cibolero's pistol
rang upon the air, and Roblado, with a loud oath, rolled down by the
edge of the water.  Carlos dashed open the gate, and was about to rush
onward, when he perceived through the smoke and darkness several
carbines brought to the level, and aimed at him.  A sudden thought came
into his mind, and he changed his design of crossing the bridge.  The
time was but the pulling of a trigger, but, short as it was, he effected
his purpose.  The carbines blazed and cracked, all nearly at the same
instant, and when the smoke cleared away Carlos was no longer on the
bridge!  Had he gone back into the garden?  No--already half-a-dozen men
had cut off his retreat in that direction!

"He is killed!" cried several voices, "Carajo!--he has fallen into the
river!  _Mira_!"

All eyes were turned upon the stream.  Certainly a body had plunged into
it, as the bubbles and circling waves testified, but only these were to
be seen!  "He has sunk! he's gone to the bottom!" cried some.

"Be sure he hasn't swum away!" counselled a voice; and several ran along
the banks with their eyes searching the surface.

"Impossible! there are no waves."

"He could not have passed here," said one who stood a little below the
bridge.  "I have been watching the water."

"So have I," cried another from above.  "He has not passed my position."

"Then he is dead and gone down!"

"Carajo! let us fish him out!"  And they were proceeding to put this
idea into execution, when Roblado, who had now got to his feet, finding
that a wounded arm was all he had suffered, ordered them to desist.

"Up and down!" he thundered; "scatter both ways--quick, or he may yet
escape us.  Go!"

The men did as they were ordered, but the party who turned down-stream
halted through sheer surprise.  The figure of a man was seen, in a bent
attitude and crawling up the bank, at the distance of a hundred yards
below.  The next moment it rose into an erect position, and glided over
the plain with lightning speed, in the direction of the copse of timber!

"_Hola_!" exclaimed several voices; "yonder he goes!  _Por todos
santos_, it is he!"

Amidst the cracking of carbines that followed, a shrill whistle was
heard; and before any of the mounted men could ride forward, a horse was
seen shooting out from the copse and meeting the man upon the open
meadow!  Quick as thought the latter vaulted into the saddle, and after
uttering a wild and scornful laugh galloped off, and soon disappeared in
the darkness!

Most of the dragoons sprang upon their horses and followed; but after a
short gallop over the plain they gave up the chase, and one by one
returned to their wounded leader.

To say that Roblado was furious would be to characterise very faintly
the state he was in.  But he had still one captive on which to vent his
rage and chagrin.

Catalina had been captured in the garden,--taken while praying for the
safe escape of her lover.  Jose had remained in charge of her, while the
rest rushed down to assist in the capture of Carlos, at which Jose,
knowing the cibolero as he did, and not being over brave, evinced no
desire to be present.

Catalina heard the shots and shouts that denoted the terrible struggle.
She had heard, too, the shrill whistle and the scornful laugh that rang
loudly above the din.  She had heard the shouts of the pursuers dying
away in the distance.

Her heart beat with joy.  She knew that her lover was free!

She thought then, and then only, of herself.  She thought, too, of
escape.  She knew the rude taunts she would have to listen to from the
brutal leader of these miscreants.  What could she do to avoid an
encounter?  She had but one to deal with--Jose.  She knew the despicable
character of the man.  Would gold tempt him?  She would make the trial.

It was made, and succeeded.  The large sum offered was irresistible.
The villain knew that there could be no great punishment for letting go
a captive who could at any time be taken again.  He would risk the
chances of his captain's displeasure for such a sum.  His captain might
have reasons for not dealing too severely with him.  The purse was paid,
and the lady was allowed to go.

She was to close the door, locking it from the inside, as though she had
escaped by flight; and this direction of Jose was followed to the
letter.

As Roblado crossed the bridge he was met by the soldier, who, breathless
and stammering, announced that the fair prisoner had got into the house.
She had slipped from his side and ran off.  Had it been an ordinary
captive, he could have fired upon her, but he was unable to overtake her
until she had passed the door, which was closed and locked before he
could get near.

For a moment Roblado hesitated whether to "storm the house."  His rage
almost induced him to the act.  He reflected, however, that the
proceeding might appear somewhat ridiculous and could not much better
his position; besides, the pain of his wounded arm admonished him to
retire from the field.

He re-crossed the bridge, was helped upon his horse, and, summoning
around him his valiant troop, he rode back to the Presidio--leaving the
roused town to conjecture the cause of the alarm.



CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

Next morning the town was full of "novedades."  At first it was supposed
there had been an attack of Indians repelled as usual by the troops.
What valiant protectors the people had!

After a while it was rumoured that Carlos the murderer had been
captured, and that was the cause of the firing,--that Captain Roblado
was killed in the affair.  Presently Carlos was not taken, but he had
been chased and came very near being taken!  Roblado had engaged him
singly, hand to hand, and had wounded him, but in the darkness he had
got off by diving down the river.  In the encounter the outlaw had shot
the captain through the arm, which prevented the latter from making him
a prisoner.

This rumour came direct from the Presidio.  It was partly true.  The
wounding of Carlos by Roblado was an addition to the truth, intended to
give a little _eclat_ to the latter, for it became known afterwards that
the cibolero had escaped without even a scratch.

People wondered why the outlaw should have ventured to approach the
town, knowing as he did that there was a price upon his head.  Some very
powerful motive must have drawn him thither.  The motive soon became
known,--the whole story leaked out; and then, indeed, did scandal enjoy
a feast.  Catalina had been for some time the acknowledged belle of the
place, and, what with envious women and jealous men, she was now treated
with slight show of charity.  The very blackest construction was put
upon her "compromisa."  It was worse even than a _mesalliance_.  The
"society" were horrified at her conduct in stooping to intimacy with a
"lepero;" while even the lepero class, itself fanatically religious,
condemned her for her association with "un asesino," but, still worse, a
"heretico!"

The excitement produced by this new affair was great indeed,--a perfect
panic.  The cibolero's head rose in value, like the funds.  The
magistrates and principal men assembled in the Casa de Cabildo.  A new
proclamation was drawn out.  A larger sum was offered for the capture of
Carlos, and the document was rendered still stronger by a declaration of
severe punishment to all who should give him food or protection.  If
captured beneath the roof of any citizen who had voluntarily sheltered
him, the latter was to suffer full confiscation of his property, besides
such further punishment as might be fixed upon.

The Church was not silent.  The padres promised excommunication and the
wrath of Heaven against those who would stay justice from the heretic
murderer!

These were terrible terms for the outlaw!  Fortunately for him, he knew
how to live without a roof over his head.  He could maintain existence
where his enemies would have starved, and where they were unable to
follow him,--on the wide desert plain, or in the rocky ravines of the
mountains.  Had he depended for food or shelter on his fellow-citizens
of the settlement he would soon have met with betrayal and denouncement.
But the cibolero was as independent of such a necessity as the wild
savage of the prairies.  He could sleep on the grassy sward or the naked
rock, he could draw sustenance even from the arid surface of the Llano
Estacado, and there he could bid defiance to a whole army of pursuers.

At the council Don Ambrosio was not present.  Grief and rage kept him
within doors.  A stormy scene had been enacted between him and his
daughter.  Henceforth she was to be strictly guarded--to be kept a
prisoner in her father's house--to be taught repentance by the exercise
of penance.

To describe the feelings of Roblado and the Comandante would be
impossible.  These gentlemen were well-nigh at their wits' end with
mortification.  Disappointment, humiliation, physical and moral pain,
had worked them into a frenzy of rage; and they were engaged together
during all the day in plotting schemes and plans for the capture of
their outlawed enemy.

Roblado was not less earnest than the Comandante in the success of their
endeavours.

Carlos had now given both of them good cause to hate him, and both hated
him from the bottom of their hearts.

What vexed Roblado most was, that he was no longer able to take the
field--nor was he likely to be for several weeks.  His wound, though not
dangerous, would oblige him to sling his arm for some time, and to
manage a horse would be out of the question.  The strategic designs of
the Comandante and himself would have to be carried out by those who
felt far less interest in the capture of the outlaw than they did.
Indeed, but for the arrival of a brace of lieutenants, sent from
division head-quarters at Santa Fe, the garrison would have been without
a commissioned officer fit for duty.  These new-comers--Lieutenants
Yafiez and Ortiga--were neither of them the men to catch the cibolero.
They were brave enough--Ortiga in particular--but both were late
arrivals from Spain, and knew nothing whatever of border warfare.

The soldiers were desirous of hunting the outlaw down, and acted with
sufficient zeal.  The stimulus of a large reward, which was promised to
them, rendered them eager of effecting his capture; and they went forth
on each fresh scout with alacrity.  But they were not likely to attack
the cibolero unless a goodly number of them were together.  No one or
two of them--including the celebrated Sergeant Gomez--would venture
within range of his rifle, much less go near enough to lay hands upon
him.

The actual experience of his prowess by some of them, and the
exaggerated reports of it known to others, had made such an impression
upon the whole troop, that the cibolero could have put a considerable
body of them to flight only by showing himself!  But in addition to the
skill, strength, and daring which he had in reality exhibited--in
addition to the exaggeration of those qualities by the fancy--the
soldiers as well as people had become possessed with a strange belief--
that was, that the cibolero was under the protection of his mother--
under the protection of the "diablo"--in other words, that he was
_bewitched_, and therefore invincible!  Some asserted that he was
impervious to shot, spear, or sabre.  Those who had fired their carbines
at him while on the bridge fully believed this.  They were ready to
swear--each one of them--that they had hit the cibolero, and must have
killed him had he not been under supernatural protection!

Wonderful stories now circulated among the soldiers and throughout the
settlement.  The cibolero was seen everywhere, and always mounted on his
coal-black horse, who shared his supernatural fame.  He had been seen
riding along the top of the cliffs at full gallop, and so close to their
edge that he might have blown the stump of his cigar into the valley
below!  Others had met him in the night on lonely walks amid the
chapparal, and according to them his face and hands had appeared red and
luminous as coals of fire!  He had been seen on the high plains by the
hateros--on the cliff of "La Nina"--in many parts of the valley; but no
one had ventured near enough to exchange words with him.  Every one had
fled or shunned him.  It was even asserted that he had been seen
crossing the little bridge that led out of Don Ambrosio's garden, and
thus brought down a fresh shower of scandal on the devoted head of
Catalina.  The scandal-mongers, however, were sadly disappointed on
hearing that this bridge no longer existed, but had been removed by Don
Ambrosio on the day following the discovery of his daughter's
misconduct!

In no part of the world is superstition stronger than among the ignorant
populace of the settlements of New Mexico.  In fact, it may be regarded
as forming part of their religion.  The missionary padres, in grafting
the religion of Rome upon the sun-worship of Quetzalcoatl, admitted for
their own purposes a goodly string of superstitions.  It would be
strange if their people did not believe in others, however absurd.
Witchcraft, therefore, and all like things, were among the New Mexicans
as much matters of belief as the Deity himself.

It is not then to be wondered at that Carlos the cibolero became
associated with the devil.  His feat of horsemanship and hair-breadth
escapes from his enemies were, to say the least, something wonderful and
romantic, even when viewed in a natural sense.  But the populace of San
Ildefonso no longer regarded them in this light.  With them his skill in
the "coleo de toros," in "running the cock,"--his feat of horsemanship
on the cliff--his singular escapes from carbine and lance, were no
longer due to himself, but to the devil.  The "diablo" was at the bottom
of all!

If the outlaw appeared so often during the next few days to those who
did not wish to see him, it was somewhat strange that those who were
desirous of a sight and an interview could get neither one nor the
other.  The lieutenants, Yafiez and Ortiga, with their following of
troopers, were on the scout and look-out from morning till night, and
from one day's end to the other.  The spies that were thickly-set in all
parts where there was a probability he might appear, could see nothing
of Carlos!  To-day he was reported here, to-morrow there; but on tracing
these reports to their sources, it usually turned out that some ranchero
with a black horse had been taken for him; and thus the troopers were
led from place to place, and misled by false reports, until both horses
and men were nearly worn out in the hopeless pursuit.  This, however,
had become the sole duty on which the soldiers were employed--as the
Comandante had no idea of giving up the chase so long as there was a
trooper left to take the trail.

One place was closely watched both by day and by night.  It was watched
by soldiers disguised, and also by spies employed for the purpose.  This
was the rancho of the cibolero himself.  The disguised soldiers and
spies were placed around it, in such positions that they could see every
movement that took place outside the walls without being themselves
seen.  These positions they held during the day, taking others at night;
and the surveillance was thus continual, by these secret sentries
relieving one another.  Should the cibolero appear, it was not the duty
of the spies to attack him.  They were only to communicate with a
troop--kept in readiness not far off--that thus insured a sufficient
force for the object.

The mother and sister of the cibolero had returned to live in the
rancho.  The peons had re-roofed and repaired it--an easy task, as the
walls had not been injured by the five.  It was now as comfortable a
dwelling as ever.

The mother and sister were not molested--in fact, they were supposed to
know nothing of the fact that eyes were continually upon them.  But
there was a design in this toleration.  They were to be narrowly watched
in their movements.  They were never to leave the rancho without being
closely followed, and the circumstance of their going out reported to
the leader of the ambushed troop at the moment of its occurrence.  These
orders were of the strictest kind, and their disobedience threatened
with severe punishment.

The reasons for all this were quite simple.  Both Vizcarra and Roblado
believed, or suspected, that Carlos might leave the settlement
altogether--why should he not?--and take both mother and sister along
with him.  Indeed, why should he not?  The place could be no more a home
to him, and he would easily find another beyond the Great Plains.  No
time could ever release him from the ban that hung over him.  He could
never pay the forfeit of his life--but by that life.  It was, therefore,
perfectly natural in the two officers to suspect him of the intention of
moving elsewhere.

But, reasoned they, so long as we hold the mother and sister as
hostages, he will not leave them.  He will still continue to lurk around
the settlement, and, if not now, some time shall the fox be caught and
destroyed.

So reasoned the Comandante and his captain, and hence the strictness of
their orders about guarding the rancho.  Its inmates were really
prisoners, though--as Vizcarra and Roblado supposed--they were ignorant
of the fact.

Notwithstanding all their ingenious plans--notwithstanding all their
spies, and scouts, and soldiers--notwithstanding their promises of
reward and threats of punishment--day followed day, and still the outlaw
remained at large.



CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

For a long time Carlos had neither been seen nor heard of except through
reports that on being examined turned out to be false.  Both the
Comandante and his _confrere_ began to grow uneasy.  They began to fear
he had in reality left the settlement and gone elsewhere to live, and
this they dreaded above all things.  Both had a reason for wishing him
thus out of the place, and until late occurrences nothing would have
pleased them better.  But their feelings had undergone a change, and
neither the intended seducer nor the fortune-hunter desired that things
should end just in that way.  The passion of revenge had almost
destroyed the ruffian love of the one, and the avarice of the other.
The very sympathy which both received on account of their misfortunes
whetted this passion to a continued keenness.  There was no danger of
its dying within the breast of either.  The looking-glass alone would
keep it alive in Vizcarra's bosom for the rest of his life.

They were together on the azotea of the Presidio, talking the matter
between them, and casting over the probabilities of their late
suspicion.

"He is fond of the sister," remarked the Comandante; "and mother too,
for that matter, hag as she is!  Still, my dear Roblado, a man likes his
own life better than anything else.  Near is the shirt, etcetera.  He
knows well that to stay here is to get into our hands some time or
other, and he knows what we'll do with him if he should.  Though he has
made some clever escapes, I'll admit, that may not always be his
fortune.  The pitcher may go to the well once too often.  He's a cunning
rascal--no doubt knows this riddle--and therefore I begin to fear he has
taken himself off,--at least for a long while.  He may return again, but
how the deuce are we to sustain this constant espionage?  It would weary
down the devil!  It will become as tiresome as the siege of Granada was
to the good king Fernando and his warlike spouse of the soiled chemise.
_Por Dios_!  I'm sick of it already!"

"Rather than let him escape us," replied Roblado, "I'd wear out my life
at it."

"So I--so I, capitan.  Don't fear I have the slightest intention of
dropping our system of vigilance.  No--no--look in this face.
_Carajo_!"

And as the speaker reflected upon his spoiled features, the bitterest
scowl passed over them, making them still more hideous.

"And yet," continued Vizcarra, following out the original theme, "it
does not seem natural that he should leave _them_ behind him, even for a
short period, after what has occurred, and after the risk he ran to
recover _her_; does it?"

"No," replied the other, thoughtfully, "no.  What I most wonder at is
his not setting off with them the night she got back,--that very
night,--for by the letter he was there upon the spot!  But, true, it
takes some time to prepare for a journey across the prairies.  He would
never have gone to one of our own settlements--not likely--and to have
travelled elsewhere would have required some preparation for the women
at least; for himself, I believe he is as much at home in the desert as
either the antelope or the prairie wolf.  Still with an effort he might
have gone away at that time and taken them along with him.  It was bad
management on our part not to send our men down that night."

"I had no fear of his going off, else I should have done so."

"How?--no fear? was it not highly probable?"

"Not in the least," replied Roblado.

"I cannot understand you, my dear capitan.  Why not?"

"Because there is a magnet in this valley that held him tighter than
either mother or sister could, and I knew that."

"Oh! now I understand you."

"Yes," continued Roblado, grinding his teeth against each other, and
speaking in a bitter tone; "that precious `margarita,' that is yet to be
my wife,--ha! ha!  He was not likely to be off without having a talk
with her.  They have had it.  God knows whether they agreed to make it
their last, but I, with the help of Don Ambrosio, have arranged that for
them.  _Carrai_! she'll make no more midnight sorties, I fancy.  No--
he's not gone.  I cannot think it,--for two reasons.  First, on her
account.  Have you ever loved, Comandante?  I mean truly loved!  Ha! ha!
ha!"

"Ha! ha! ha! well I think I was caught once."

"Then you will know that when a man really loves--for I myself count
that foolish act among my experiences,--when a man really loves, there's
no rope strong enough to pull him away from the spot where the object of
his love resides.  No, I believe this fellow, low as he is, not only
loves but worships this future wife of mine,--ha! ha!--and I believe
also that no danger, not even the prospect of the garrote, will frighten
him from the settlement so long as he has the hope of another
clandestine _tete-a-tete_ with her; and, knowing that she is ready to
meet him half-way in such a matter, he will not have lost hope yet.

"But my second reason for believing he is still lurking about is that
which you yourself have brought forward.  He is not likely to leave them
behind after what has happened.  We have not blinded him;
though--_Gracias a Dios_, or the devil--we have dusted the eyes of
everybody besides!  He knows all, as the girl Vicenza can well testify.
Now, I have no belief that, knowing all this, he would leave them for
any lengthened period.  What I do believe is that the fellow is as
cunning as a _coyote_, sees our trap, knows the bait, and won't be
caught if he can help it.  He is not far off, and, through these
accursed peons of his, communicates with the women regularly and
continually."

"What can be done?"

"I have been thinking."

"If we stop the peons from going back and forth they would be sure to
know the trap that was set around them."

"Exactly so, Comandante.  That would never do."

"Have you considered any other plan?"

"Partly I have."

"Let us hear it!"

"It is this.  Some of those peons regularly visit the fellow in his
lair.  I feel certain of it.  Of course they have been followed, but
only in daylight, and then they are found to be on their ordinary
business.  But there is one of them who goes abroad at night; and all
attempts at following him have proved abortive.  He loses himself in the
chapparal paths in spite of the spies.  That is why I am certain he
visits the cibolero."

"It seems highly probable."

"Now if we can find one who could either follow this fellow or track
him--but there's the difficulty.  We are badly off for a good tracker.
There is not one in the whole troop."

"There are other ciboleros and hunters in the valley.  Why not procure
one of them?"

"True, we might--there are none of them over well disposed to the
outlaw--so it is said.  But I fear there is none of them fit, that is,
none who combines both the skill and the courage necessary for this
purpose--for both are necessary.  They hate the fellow enough, but they
fear him as well.  There is _one_ whom I have heard of,--in fact know
something of him,--who would be the very man for us.  He not only would
not fear an encounter with the cibolero, but would hardly shun one with
the devil; and, as for his skill in all sorts of Indian craft, his
reputation among his kind is even greater than that of Carlos himself."

"Who is he?"

"I should say there are two of them, for the two always go together; one
is a mulatto, who has formerly been a slave among the Americanos.  He is
now a runaway, and therefore hates everything that reminds him of his
former masters.  Among other souvenirs, as I am told, he hates our
cibolero with a good stout hatred.  This springs partly from the feeling
already mentioned, and partly from the rivalry of hunter-fame.  So much
in our favour.  The _alter ego_ of the mulatto is a man of somewhat
kindred race, a _zambo_ from the coast near Matamoras or Tampico How he
strayed this way no one knows, but it is a good while ago, and the
mulatto and he have for long been shadows of each other; live together,
hunt together, and fight for one another.  Both are powerful men, and
cunning as strong; but the mulatto is the zambo's master in everything,
villainy not excepted.  Neither is troubled with scruples.  They would
be the very men for our purpose."

"And why not get them at once?"

"Therein lies the difficulty--unfortunately they are not here at
present.  They are off upon a hunt.  They are hangers-on of the mission,
occasionally employed by the padres in procuring venison and other game.

"Now it seems that the stomachs of our good abstemious fathers have
lately taken a fancy to buffalo tongue cured in a certain way, which can
only be done when the animal is fresh killed.  In order to procure this
delicacy they have sent these hunters to the buffalo range."

"How long have they been gone?--can you tell?"

"Several weeks--long before the return of our cibolero."

"It is possible they may be on the way back.  Is it not?"

"I think it quite probable, but I shall ride over to the mission this
very hour and inquire."

"Do so; it would be well if we could secure them.  A brace of fellows,
such as you describe these to be, would be worth our whole command.
Lose no time."

"I shall not waste a minute," Roblado replied, and leaning over the wall
he called out, "Hola!  Jose! my horse there!"

Shortly after a messenger came up to say that his horse was saddled and
ready.  He was about to descend the escalera, when a large
closely-cropped head--with a circular patch about the size of a blister
shaven out of the crown--made its appearance over the stone-work at the
top of the escalera.  It was the head of the Padre Joaquin, and the next
moment the owner, bland and smiling, appeared upon the azotea.



CHAPTER FIFTY.

The monk who presented himself was the same who had figured at the
dinner-party.  He was the senior of the two that directed the mission,
and in every respect the ruler of the establishment.  He was known as
the Padre Joaquin, while his junior was the Padre Jorge.  The latter was
a late addition to the post, whereas Padre Joaquin had been its director
almost since the time of its establishment.  He was, therefore, an old
resident, and knew the history and character of every settler in the
valley.  For some reason or other he held an inveterate dislike to the
family of the cibolero, to which he had given expression upon the
evening of the dinner-party,--although he assigned no cause for his
hostility.  It could not have been because he regarded them as
"hereticos," for, though the Padre Joaquin was loud in his denunciations
of all who were outside the pale of the Church, yet in his own heart he
cared but little about such things.  His zeal for religion was sheer
hypocrisy and worldly cunning.  There was no vice practised in the
settlement in which Padre Joaquin did not take a leading part.  An
adroit _monte_ player he was--ready to do a little cheating upon
occasions--a capital judge of game "gallos," ever ready to stake his
onzas upon a "main."  In addition to these accomplishments, the padre
boasted of others.  In his cups,--and this was nothing unusual,--he was
in the habit of relating the _liaisons_ and _amourettes_ of his earlier
life, and even some of later date.  Although the neophytes of the
mission were supposed to be all native Tagnos with dark skins, yet there
was to be seen upon the establishment quite a crowd of young
_mestizoes_, both boys and girls, who were known as the "sobrinos" and
"sobrinas" of Padre Joaquin.

You cannot otherwise than deem this an exaggeration: you will imagine
that no reverend father could practise such conduct, and still be held
in any sort of respect by the people among whom he dwelt?  So should I
have thought had I not witnessed with my own eyes and ears the
"priest-life" of Mexico.  The immoralities here ascribed to Padre
Joaquin can scarcely be called exceptional in his class.  They are
rather common than otherwise--some have even said _universal_.

It was no zealous feeling of religion, then, that could have "set" the
monk in such hostile attitude against the family of the poor cibolero.
No.  It was some old grudge against the deceased father,--some cross
which the padre had experienced from him in the days of the former
Comandante.

As Padre Joaquin walked forward on the azotea, his busy bustling air
showed that he was charged with some "novedad;" and the triumphant smile
upon his countenance told that he calculated upon its being of interest
to those to whom he was about to communicate it.

"Good day, father!--Good day, your reverence!" said the Comandante and
Roblado speaking at the same time.

"_Buenos dias, cavalleros_!" responded the padre.

"Glad to see you, good father!" said Roblado.  "You have saved me a
ride.  I was just in the act of starting for the mission to wait upon
your reverence."

"And if you had come, capitan, I could have given you a luxury to lunch
upon.  We have received our buffalo-tongues."

"Oh! you have!" cried Vizcarra and Roblado in the same breath, and with
an expression of interest that somewhat surprised the padre.

"Ha! you greedy _ladrones_!  I see what you would be after.  You would
have me send you some of them.  You sha'n't have a slice though--that
is, unless you can give me something that will wash this dust out of my
throat.  I'm woeful thirsty this morning."

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the officers.  "What shall it be, father?"

"Well--let me see.--Ah!--a cup of `Bordeos'--that you received by last
arrival."

The claret was ordered and brought up; and the padre, tossing off a
glassful, smacked his lips after it with the air of one who well knew
and appreciated the good quality of the wine.

"_Linda! lindisima_!" he exclaimed, rolling his eyes up to heaven, as if
everything good should come and go in that direction.

"And so, padre," said the impatient Roblado, "you have got your
buffalo-tongues?  Your hunters, then, have returned?"

"They have; that is the business that brought me over."

"Good! that was the business that was about to take me to the mission."

"An onza we were both on the same errand!" challenged the padre.

"I won't bet, father; you always win."

"Come! you'd be glad to give an onza for my news."

"What news?--what news?" asked the officers at once, and with hurried
impatience of manner.

"Another cup of Bordeos, or I choke!  The dust of that road is worse
than purgatory.  Ah! this is a relief."

And again the padre swallowed a large glassful of claret, and smacked
his lips as before.

"Now your news, dear padre?"

"_Pues_, cavalleros--our hunters have returned!"

"_Y pues_?"

"_Pues que_! they have brought news."

"Of what?"

"Of our friend the cibolero."

"Of Carlos?"

"Precisely of that individual."

"What news?  Have they seen him?"

"No, not exactly _him_, but _his trail_.  They have discovered his lair,
and know where he is at this moment."

"Good!" exclaimed Vizcarra and Roblado.

"They can find him at any time."

"Excellent!"

"_Pues_, cavalleros; that is my news at your service.  Use it to your
advantage, if you can."

"Dear padre!" replied Vizcarra, "yours is a wiser head than ours.  You
know the situation of affairs.  Our troopers _cannot catch_ this
villain.  How would you advise us to act?"

The padre felt nattered by this confidence.

"Amigos!" said he, drawing both of them together, "I have been thinking
of this; and it is my opinion you will do just as well without the help
of a single soldier.  Take these two hunters into your confidence--so
far as may be necessary--equip them for the work--set them on the trail;
and if they don't hunt down the heretic rascal, then I, Padre Joaquin,
have no knowledge of men."

"Why, padre!" said Roblado; "it's the very thing we have been thinking
about--the very business for which I was about to seek you."

"You had good reason, cavalleros.  In my opinion, it's the best course
to be followed."

"But will your hunters go willingly to work?  They are free men, and may
not like to engage in so dangerous an enterprise."

"Dangerous!" repeated the padre.  "The danger will be no obstacle to
them, I promise you.  They have the courage of lions and the agility of
tigers.  You need not fear that danger will stand in the way."

"You think, then, they will be disposed to it?"

"They _are_ disposed--I have sounded them.  They have some reasons of
their own for not loving the cibolero too dearly; and therefore,
cavalleros, you won't require to use much persuasion on that score.  I
fancy you'll find them ready enough, for they have, been reading the
proclamation, and, if I mistake not, have been turning over in their
thoughts the fine promises it holds out.  Make it sure to them that they
will be well rewarded, and they'll bring you the cibolero's ears, or his
scalp, or his whole carcase, if you prefer it, in less than three days
from the present time!  They'll track him down, I warrant."

"Should we send some troopers along with them?  The cibolero may not be
alone.  We have reason to believe he has a half-blood with him--a sort
of right-hand man of his own--and with this help he may be quite a match
for your hunters."

"Not likely--they are very _demonios_.  But you can consult themselves
about that.  They will know best whether they need assistance.  That is
their own affair, cavalleros.  Let them decide."

"Shall we send for them? or will you send them to us?" inquired Roblado.

"Do you not think it would be better for one of you to go to _them_?
The matter should be managed privately.  If they make their appearance
here, and hold an interview with either of you, your business with them
will be suspected, and perchance get known to _him_.  If it should reach
his ears that these fellows are after him, their chances of taking him
would be greatly diminished."

"You are right, father," said Roblado.  "How can we communicate with
these fellows privately?"

"Nothing easier than that, capitan.  Go to their house--I should rather
say to their hut--for they live in a sort of hovel by the rocks.  The
place is altogether out of the common track.  No one will be likely to
see you on your visit.  You must pass through a narrow road in the
chapparal; but I shall send you a guide who knows the spot, and he will
conduct you.  I think it like enough the fellows will be expecting you,
as I hinted to them to stay at home--that possibly they might be wanted.
No doubt you'll find them there at this moment."

"When can you send up the guide?"

"He is here now--my own attendant will do.  He is below in the court--
you need lose no time."

"No.  Roblado," added the Comandante, "your horse is ready--you cannot
do better than go at once."

"Then go I shall: your guide, padre?"

"Esteban!  Hola!  Esteban!" cried the padre, leaning over the wall.

"_Aqui, Senor_," answered a voice.

"_Sube! sube! anda_!"  (Come up quickly.)

The next moment an Indian boy appeared upon the azotea, and taking off
his hat approached the padre with an air of reverence.

"You will guide the capitan through the path in the chapparal to the
hunters' hut."

"Si, Senor."

"Don't tell any one you have done so."

"No, Senor."

"If you do you shall catch the `cuarto.'  _Vaya_!"

Roblado, followed by the boy, descended the escalera; and, after being
helped on his horse, rode away from the gate.

The padre, at the invitation of Vizcarra, emptied another cup of
Bordeos; and then, telling his host that a luncheon of the new luxury
awaited him at the mission, he bade him good day, and shuffled off
homeward.

Vizcarra remained alone upon the azotea.  Had any one been there to
watch him, they would have noticed that his countenance assumed a
strange and troubled expression every time his eyes chanced to wander in
the direction of La Nina.



CHAPTER FIFTY ONE.

Roblado entered the chapparal, the boy Esteban stepping a few paces in
advance of his horse's head.  For half-a-mile or so he traversed a
leading road that ran between the town and one of the passes.  He then
struck into a narrow path, but little used except by hunters or vaqueros
in search of their cattle.  This path conducted him, after a ride of two
or three miles, to the base of the cliffs, and there was found the
object of his journey--the dwelling-place of the hunters.

It was a mere hut--a few upright posts supporting a single roof, which
slanted up, with a very slight inclination, against the face of the
rock.  The posts were trunks of a species of arborescent yucca that grew
plentifully around the spot, and the roof-thatch was the stiff loaves of
the same, piled thickly over each other.  There was a sort of rude door,
made of boards split from the larger trunks of the yucca, and hung with
strong straps of _parfleche_, or thick buffalo leather.  Also a hole
that served for a window, with a shutter of the same material, and
similarly suspended.  The walls were a wattle of vines and slender poles
bent around the uprights, and daubed carelessly with a lining of mud.
The smooth vertical rock served for one side of the house--so that so
much labour had been spared in the building--and the chimney, which was
nothing better than a hole in the roof, conducted the smoke in such a
manner that a sooty streak marked its course up the face of the cliff.
The door entered at one end, close in by the rock, but the window was in
the side or front.  Through the latter the inmates of the hut could
command a view of any one approaching by the regular path.  This,
however, was a rare occurrence, as the brace of rude hunters had but few
acquaintances, and their dwelling was far removed from any frequented
route.  Indeed, the general track of travel that led along the bottom
line of the bluffs did not approach within several hundred yards of this
point, in consequence of the indentation or bay in which the hut was
placed.  Moreover, the thick chapparal screened it from observation on
one side, while the cliffs shut it in upon the other.

Behind the house--that is, at the hinder end of it--was a small
_corral_, its walls rudely constructed with fragments of rock.  In this
stood three lean and sore-backed mules, and a brace of mustangs no
better off.  There was a field adjoining the corral, or what had once
been a field, but from neglect had run into a bed of grass and weeds.  A
portion of it, however, showed signs of cultivation--a patch here and
there--on which stood some maize-plants, irregularly set and badly hoed,
and between their stems the trailing tendrils of the melon and calabash.
It was a true squatter's plantation.

Around the door lay half-a-dozen wolfish-looking dogs; and under the
shelter of the overhanging rock, two or three old pack-saddles rested
upon the ground.  Upon a horizontal pole two riding saddles were set
astride--old, worn, and torn--and from the same pole hung a pair of
bridles, and some strings of jerked meat and pods of chile pepper.

Inside the house might have been seen a couple of Indian women, not over
cleanly in their appearance, engaged in kneading coarse bread and
stewing tasajo.  A fire burnt against the rock, between two stones--
earthen pots and gourd dishes lay littered over the floor.

The walls were garnished with bows, quivers, and skins of animals, and a
pair of embankments of stones and mud, one at each corner of the room--
there was but one room--served as bedstead and beds.  A brace of long
spears rested in one corner, alongside a rifle and a Spanish _escopeta_;
and above hung a machete or sword-knife, with powder-horns, pouches, and
other equipments necessary to a hunter of the Rocky Mountains.  There
were nets and other implements for fishing and taking small game, and
these constituted the chief furniture of the hovel.  All these things
Roblado might have seen by entering the hut; but he did not enter, as
the men he was in search of chanced to be outside--the mulatto lying
stretched along the ground, and the zambo swinging in a hammock between
two trees, according to the custom of his native country--the
coast-lands of the _tierra caliente_.

The aspect of these men, that would have been displeasing to almost any
one else, satisfied Roblado.  They were just the men for his work.  He
had seen both before, but had never scrutinised them till now; and, as
he glanced at their bold swarthy faces and brawny muscular frames, he
thought to himself, "These are just the fellows to deal with the
cibolero."  A formidable pair they looked.  Each one of them, so far as
appearance went, might with safety assail an antagonist like the
cibolero--for either of them was bigger and bulkier than he.

The mulatto was the taller of the two.  He was also superior in
strength, courage, and sagacity.  A more unamiable countenance it would
have been difficult to meet in all that land, without appealing to that
of the zambo.  There you found its parallel.

The skin of the former was dull yellow in colour, with a thin beard over
the cheeks and around the lips.  The lips were negro-like, thick, and
purplish, and behind them appeared a double row of large wolfish teeth.
The eyes were sunken--their whites mottled with yellowish flakes.  Heavy
dark brows shadowed them, standing far apart, separated by the broad
flatfish nose, the nostrils of which stood so widely open as to cause a
protuberance on each side.  Large ears were hidden under a thick
frizzled shock that partook of the character both of hair and wool.
Over this was bound, turban fashion, an old check Madras kerchief that
had not come in contact with soap for many a day; and from under its
folds the woolly hair straggled down over the forehead so as to add to
the wild and fierce expression of the face.  It was a countenance that
proclaimed ferocity, reckless daring, cunning, and an utter absence of
all humane sentiment.

The dress of the man had little in it differing from others who lead the
life of a prairie-hunter.  It was a mixture of leather and blanket.  The
head-dress only was peculiar.  That was an old souvenir of the Southern
States and their negro life.

The zambo had a face as ferocious in its expression as that of his
confrere.  It differed in colour.  It was a coppery black--combining the
hues of both races from whom he derived his origin.  He had the thick
lips and retreating forehead of the negro, but the Indian showed itself
in his hair, which scarcely waved, but hung in long snaky tresses about
his neck and shoulders.  He was altogether less distinguished-looking
than his comrade the mulatto.  His dress partook of the character of his
tribe--wide trousers of coarse cotton stuff, with a sleeveless shirt of
the same material,--a waist scarf, and coarse serape.  Half the upper
part of his body was nude, and his thick copper-coloured arms were quite
bare.

Roblado arrived just in time to witness the _finale_ of an incident that
would serve to illustrate the character of the zambo.

He was half sitting, half-lying in his hammock, in the enjoyment of a
husk cigar, and occasionally striking at the flies with his raw-hide
whip.  He called out to one of the women--his wife for the time--

"Nina!  I want to eat something--is the _guisado_ ready?"

"Not yet," answered a voice from the hut.

"Bring me a tortilla then, with chile Colorado."

"_Querido_--you know there is no chile Colorado in the house," was the
reply.

"Nina! come here!  I want you."

The woman came out, and approached the hammock, but evidently with some
mistrust.

The zambo sat perfectly silent until she was close enough for his
purpose, and then, suddenly raising the raw-hide, which he had hitherto
held behind him, he laid it with all his strength over her back and
shoulders.  A thin chemisette was all that intervened to hinder the full
severity of the blows, and these fell thick end fast, until the sufferer
took courage and retreated out of reach!

"Now, Nina, dear love! the next time I call for a tortilla with chile
Colorado you'll have it--won't you, dear pet?"

And then laying himself back in his hammock, the savage uttered a roar
of laughter, in which he was joined by the mulatto, who would have done
just the same by his better half for a like provocation!

It was just at this crisis Roblado pulled up in front of the hovel.

Both got to their feet to receive him, and both saluted him with a
gesture of respect.  They knew who he was.  The mulatto, as the
principal man, took the principal part in the conversation, while the
zambo hung in the background.

The dialogue was carried on in a low tone on account of the woman and
the boy Esteban.  It resulted, however, in the hunters being engaged, as
the padre had suggested, to track and follow the cibolero Carlos to
death or capture.  If the former, a large sum was to be their reward--if
the latter, a sum still larger--nearly double!

With regard to assistance from the troops, neither mulatto nor zambo
wished for any.  Quite the contrary.  They had no desire that the
magnificent bounty should be diminished by subdivision.  As it stood, it
would be a small fortune to both of them, and the brilliant prospect
whetted their appetite for the success of the job.

His errand having been thus accomplished, the officer rode back to the
Presidio; while the man-hunters immediately set about making
preparations for expedition.



CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.

The mulatto and zambo--Manuel and Pepe were their respective names--in
half-an-hour after were ready for the road.  Their preparations did not
cost them half that time; but a quarter of an hour was spent on the
_guisado_, and each smoked a husk cigarrito, while their horses were
grinding up the half-dozen heads of green maize that had been thrown
them.

Having finished their cigars, the hunters leaped into their saddles, and
rode off.

The mulatto was armed with a long rifle, of the kind used by American
hunters, and a knife of the sort since known as a "Bowie," with a strong
thick blade keenly pointed and double-edged for some inches from the
point--a terrible weapon in close combat.  These arms he had brought
with him from the Mississippi valley, where he had learnt how to use
them.

The zambo carried an escopeta strapped in a slanting direction along the
flap of his saddle, a machete upon his thigh, and a bow with a quiver of
arrows hung over his back.  The last of these weapons--for certain
purposes, such as killing game, or when a silent shot may be desirable--
is preferred to any sort of fire-arms.  Arrows can be delivered more
rapidly than bullets, and, should the first shot fail, the intended
victim is less likely to be made aware of the presence of his enemy.

In addition to these weapons, both had pistols stuck in their belts, and
lazos hanging coiled from their saddle-bows.

Behind them on the croup each carried his provisions--a few strips of
tasajo with some cold tortillas tied in a piece of buckskin.  A
double-headed calabash for water, with sundry horns, pouches, and bags,
completed their equipment.  A pair of huge gaunt dogs trotted behind
their horses' heels, fierce and savage-looking as their masters.  One
was the wolf-dog of the country, the other a Spanish bloodhound.

"What road, Man'l?" inquired the zambo as they parted from the hut;
"straight down to the Pecos?"

"No, Pepe boy: must climb, go round.  Seen making down valley, somebody
guess what we're after--send him word we're coming.  He suspect--we not
grow rich so easily.  No--must get up by old track--cross to dry gully--
down that to Pecos.  Take longer--make things surer, boy Pepe."

"Carrambo!" exclaimed Pepe.  "It's a murderous climb.  My poor beast's
so jaded with the buffalo running, that he'll scarce get up.  _Carrai_!"

After a short ride through the thicket and along the bottom of the
cliffs, they arrived at a point where a ravine sloped to the upper
plain.  Up the bottom of this ravine was a difficult pass--difficult on
account of its steepness.  Any other horses than mountain-reared
mustangs would have refused it, but these can climb like cats.  Even the
dogs could scarcely crawl up this ascent.  In spite of its almost
vertical slope, the hunters dismounted, crawled up, and, pulling their
horses after them, soon reached the table-land above.

After breathing themselves and their animals, they once more got
astride, and, heading northward, rode rapidly off over the plain.

"Now, boy Pepe," muttered the mulatto, "chance meet any sheep-keepers,
going after antelope; you hear?"

"Ay, Man'l; I understand."

These were the last words exchanged between them for ten miles.  They
rode in file--the mulatto in the lead, the zambo in his tracks, and the
dogs following in the rear.  These two went also in file, the bloodhound
heading the wolf.

At the end of ten miles they reached a dry river channel, that ran
transversely across their route.  It was the same which Carlos and his
party had followed on the day of their escape after the affair at the
Presidio.  The hunters entered it, and, turning downward, as Carlos had
done, followed it to its mouth upon the banks of the Pecos.  Here was a
grove of timber, which they entered, and, having dismounted, tied their
horses to the trees.  These animals, though lately arrived from a long
journey, and now having passed over more than thirty miles at a brisk
rate, showed no symptoms of being done up.  Lean though they were, they
possessed the tough wiry strength of their race, and either of them
could have gone another hundred miles without breaking down.

This their masters well knew, else they would have gone upon their
man-hunt with less confidence of success.

"May gallop away on his fine black," remarked the mulatto, as he glanced
at the mustangs.  "Soon overhaul him again--won't we, boy Pepe?"

"_Chinga_! we will."

"Brace of hacks tire out racer,--won't they, boy Pepe?"

"_Chingara_!  So they will, Man'l."

"Don't want to try that game though--do the job easier; won't we, boy
Pepe?"

"I hope so, Man'l."

"Cibolero in the cave sure--stays there--no better place for him.  Won't
be caught sleeping,--troopers never follow him up the pass.  Convenient
to valley.  Goes back and forward spite of spies.  Tracks could lead
nowhere else--sure in the cave, horse and all.  When? that the trouble,
boy Pepe."

"_Es verdad_! if we knew when he was in, or when he was out, either."

"Ay, knew that, no difficulty,--set our trap easy enough, boy Pepe."

"He must surely be there in daytime?"

"Just been thinking--goes to the settlements--must be by night, that's
clear--goes there, boy Pepe, maybe not to rancho, somewhere near.  Must
go to meet Anton.  Not like Anton meet him at cave--guero too sharp for
that--goes out to meet Anton, sure!"

"Might we not track Anton?"

"Might track Anton--no good that--would have to deal with both together.
Besides, don't want kill Anton--no ill-will to Anton--make things worse
if find Anton with him.  Never do, boy Pepe--have hands full with guero
himself--plenty do capture him.  Must not forget capture--not kill--
leave that to them.  No use track Anton--know where t'other keeps.  If
didn't know that, then might track Anton."

"Can't we get near the cave in daylight, Man'l?  I don't have a good
memory of the place."

"Mile--no nearer--unless he sleep--when sleep?  Tell me that, boy Pepe!"

"And suppose he be awake?"

"See us enter the canon, mile off--jump into saddle, pass up to plain
above--maybe three days before find him again--maybe not find at all,
boy Pepe."

"Well, brother Man'l--I have a plan.  Let us get near the mouth of the
canon, and hide outside of it till night--then as soon as it is dark
creep into where it narrows.  He will come down that way to go out.
What then? we can have a shot at him as he passes!"

"Pooh, boy Pepe!  Think lose chance of half reward--risk whole by shot
in dark?  Dam! no--have whole or none--set us up for life--take him
alive, take him alive, sure."

"Well then," rejoined the zambo, "let him pass out of the canon, and
when he's gone clear out of reach we can go up, get into the cave, and
wait his return.  What say you to that?"

"Talk sense now, boy Pepe--something like plan about that--what we do--
but not go inside canon till guero clear away.  Only near enough see him
go out, then for cave--right plan to take him.  Sun near dawn, time we
start--come!"

"_Vamos_!"

Both mounted, and rode forward to the bank of the river.  There was no
ford at the spot, but what of that?  With scarce a moment's delay they
plunged their horses into the stream and swam across.  The dogs followed
their example, and all came out dripping on the opposite bank.  The
evening was chill, but what was heat or cold to such men?  Nothing
signified their wet clothes to them; and without halting they rode
straight forward to the ceja of the Llano Estacado, and having reached
it turned to the right, and rode along the base of the bluffs.

After following the line of the ceja for two or three miles they
approached a spur of the cliff that ran out into the plain, and
gradually tapered to a point, sinking lower as it receded from the
Llano.  It ended in a clump, or rather several clusters, of isolated
rocks and boulders that stood near each other.  The place was not
timbered, but the dark rocks irregularly piled upon each other gave it a
shaggy appearance; and among their crevices, and the spaces between
them, was ample room for even a large party both of men and horses to
lie concealed.

The end of this rocky promontory was the point towards which the mulatto
was steering.  It formed one side of the ravine in which lay the cave,
while another similar ridge bounded the ravine on its southern side.
Between them a deep bay indented the cliff, from which a narrow
difficult pass opened up to the high plain above.  It was the same
ravine in which the cattle of the young ranchero Don Juan had been
slaughtered!  These were no longer to be seen, but their bones were
still visible, scattered over the plain, and already bleached white.
The wolves, vultures, and bears, had prepared them for that.

The man-hunters at length reached their destination; and, having led
their horses in among the loose boulders, fastened them securely.  They
then crept up through crevices in the rocks, until they had reached the
crest of the ridge.  From this point they commanded a view of the whole
mouth of the land-bay, about three hundred yards in width, so that no
object, such as a man or horse, could pass out or in without their
observing it--unless the night should chance to be very dark indeed.
But they expected moonlight, by the help of which not even a cat could
enter the ravine without their seeing it.

Having found a spot to their liking, they lay down, with their bodies
concealed from any one who might be passing on the plain below either in
front of or behind them.  Their horses were already hidden among the
large masses of rock.

To the minds of both their purposed plan of action was clearly
understood.  They had their reasons for believing that the cibolero,
during his period of outlawry, was dwelling in a cave that opened into
this ravine, and which was well-known to the mulatto; that Carlos came
out in the night, and approached the settlements--the place was but ten
miles from his own rancho--and that he was met somewhere by Antonio, who
gave him information of what was going on, bringing him provisions at
the same time.

It was their intention to wait until Carlos should pass out, then occupy
the cave themselves, and attack him on his return.  True they might have
waylaid him on his going forth, but that might result in a failure.
Catch him they could not while mounted.  They might have crept near
enough to get a shot at him, but, as the mulatto had said, that would
have risked their losing him altogether.

Moreover, neither wanted to take only his scalp.  The mulatto in
particular had resolved on earning the double price by _taking him
alive_.  Even though it cost them some additional risk, his capture
would doubly reward them, and for money these desperadoes were ready to
venture anything.  Withal, they were not so daring as to have cared for
an open encounter.  They knew something of the mettle of "el guero," but
they trusted to the advantage they should obtain over him by stratagem.
On starting out they had resolved to follow him up, and steal upon him
when asleep--and the plan which they had now formed had been the result
of cogitations by the way.  In Manuel's mind it had been developed long
before the suggestion of the zambo.

They rested their hopes upon the belief that their victim would not know
that they were after him--he could not have heard of their return from
the buffalo-hunt, and therefore would be less on the alert.  They knew
if Carlos became aware that they were upon his trail he would pursue a
_very_ different course from that observed towards his soldier-pursuers.
From these he could easily hide at any time upon the Llano Estacado,
but it was different with men like the hunters, who, though they might
not overtake him at the first burst, could follow on and find him again
wherever he should ride to.

But both mulatto and zambo believed that their presence would be
unsuspected by the guero, until they had laid hands upon him.  Hence
their confidence of success.

They certainly had taken measures that promised it, supposing their
hypothesis to be correct--that is, supposing the cibolero to be in the
cave at that moment, and that during the night he should come out of the
ravine.

They were soon to know--the sun had already gone down.  They would not
have long to watch.



CHAPTER FIFTY THREE.

Carlos _was_ in the cave, and at that very moment.  Ever since the
affair at the Presidio he had made it his dwelling, his "lair," and for
reasons very similar to those which the mulatto had imparted to his
companion.  It afforded him a safe retreat, and at a convenient distance
from his friends in the valley.  Out of the ravine he could pass with
safety by night, returning before day.  During the day he slept.  He had
little fear of being tracked thither by the troopers; but even had they
done so, his cave entrance commanded a full view of the ravine to its
mouth at nearly a mile's distance, and any one approaching from that
direction could be perceived long before they were near.  If a force of
troopers should enter by the mouth of the ravine, though both sides were
inaccessible cliffs, the cibolero had his way of escape.  As already
stated, a narrow pass, steep and difficult, led from the upper end of
the gully to the plain above.  Steep and difficult as it was, it could
be scaled by the black horse; and, once on the wide plain of the Llano
Estacado, Carlos could laugh at his soldier-pursuers.

The only time his enemies could have reached him would be during his
hours of sleep, or after darkness had fallen.  But Carlos was not afraid
even then.  He went to sleep with as much unconcern as if he had been
surrounded by a body-guard!  This is explained by a knowledge of the
fact that he _had_ his guard--a faithful guard--the dog Cibolo; for
although Cibolo had received some lance-thrusts in his last terrible
encounter, he had escaped without any fatal wound.  He was still by the
side of his master.  While the latter slept the sagacious animal sat
upon the ledge, and watched the ravine below.  The sight of a soldier's
uniform would have raised the hair along Cibolo's back and drawn from
him the warning growl.  Even in the darkness no one could have got
within several hundred yards of the cave without attracting the notice
of the dog, who would have given his master time to get off from the
most rapid pursuers.

The cave was a large one, large enough to hold both men and horses.
Water, pure crystal water, dripped from the rocks near its inner end,
and lay collected in a tank, that from its round bowl-like shape seemed
to have been fashioned by the hand of man.  But it was not so.  Nature
had formed this bowl and filled it with choicest water.  Such a
formation is by no means uncommon in that region.  Caves containing
similar tanks exist in the Waco and Guadalupe Mountains lying still
farther to the south.

It was just the spot for a hiding-place--a refuge for either robber,
outlaw, or other fugitive; and circumstanced as Carlos was it was the
very dwelling for him.  He had long known of its existence, and shared
that knowledge only with hunters like himself and the wild Indians.  No
settlers of the valley ever ventured up that dark and dismal ravine.

In his lair Carlos had ample time for reflection, and bitter often were
his reflections.  He had information of all that passed.  Antonio
managed that.  Nightly did he meet Antonio at a point on the Pecos, and
receive from him the "novedades" of the settlement.  The cunning mulatto
had guessed correctly.  Had Antonio brought his news direct to the cave,
he might have been followed, and the hiding-place of Carlos have been
thus discovered.  To prevent that the cibolero nightly went forth to
meet him.

Antonio, in collecting the news of the settlement, found in the young
girl Josefa an able adjutant.  Through her he learnt that Catalina de
Cruces was kept under lock and key--that Roblado had only been
wounded, and would recover--that new officers went out with the
scouting-parties--and that his master's head had risen in price.  The
shallow artifice of the spies around the rancho had long been known to
Carlos.  Shallow as it was, it greatly annoyed him, as by these he was
prevented from visiting his mother and sister.  Through Antonio,
however, he kept up almost daily communication with them.  He might have
been apprehensive in regard to his sister after what had occurred, but
the villain Vizcarra was an invalid, and Carlos rightly judged why
Rosita was permitted to go unmolested.  He had little fear for her--at
least for a time--and ere that time expired he should bear her away, far
out of the reach of such danger.

It was for that opportunity he was now waiting.  With, all the vigilance
of his foes, he had no fear but that he could _steal_ his own mother and
sister almost at any time.  But another was to be the companion of their
flight--another dear as they, and far more closely guarded!

For her only did he risk life daily--for her only did he sit hour after
hour in that lone cave brooding over plans, and forming schemes of
desperate peril.

Kept under lock and key--closely watched from morn to night, and night
till morning--how was she to be rescued from such a situation?  This was
the problem upon which his mind now dwelt.

She had given him the assurance of her willingness to go.  Oh! why had
he not proposed instant flight?  Why did he neglect that golden moment?
Why should either have thought of delay?  That delay had been fatal--
might retard their purpose for months, for years--perhaps for ever!

But little cared Carlos for the anger of his enemies--little for the
contempt in which he was held throughout the settlement--she alone was
his care--his constant solicitude.  His waking hours were all given to
that one thought--how he would rescue, not himself, but his mistress.

No wonder he looked anxiously for the night--no wonder he rode with
impatient eagerness towards that lone rendezvous on the Pecos.

Night had come again; and, leading his horse down the slope in front of
the cave, he mounted and rode off toward the mouth of the canon.  The
dog Cibolo trotted in advance of him.



CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR.

The man-hunters had not long to wait.  They had anticipated this.  There
was a moon which they had also expected.  It was a bright moon at
intervals, and then obscured--for minutes at a time--by the passage of
dark clouds over the canopy.

There was no wind, however, and the air was perfectly still.  The
slightest noise could have been heard for a long distance in the
atmosphere of that elevated region--so pure and light that it vibrated
afar with the slightest concussion.

Sounds were heard, but they were not made by either the dogs or horses
of the hunters--well-trained to silence--nor by the hunters themselves.
Both lay stretched in silence; or if they spoke, it was only in whispers
and low mutterings.

The sounds were those of nature--such as it exists in that wild region.
The "snort" of the grizzly bear from the rocky ledge--the howling bark
of the coyote--the "hoo-hoop" of the burrowing owl, and the shrill
periodical cries of the bull-bat and goatsucker.  For a while these were
the only sounds that fell upon the ears of the ambushed hunters.

Half-an-hour elapsed, and during all that time never permitted their
eyes or ears to rest for a moment.  They gazed up the ravine, and at
intervals glanced outwards upon the plain.  There was a probability that
their victim might be abroad--even in the day--and with such men no
probability was allowed to pass without examination.  Should it prove to
be so, and he were to return at that time, it would frustrate the plan
they had arranged.  But for such a contingency the mulatto had conceived
another--that was, to steal during the night as near the cave as
possible--within rifle-shot if he could--wait until the guero should
make his appearance in the morning, and _wing_ him with a bullet from
his rifle--in the use of which weapon the yellow hunter was well
skilled.  To shoot the horse was another design.  The horse once killed
or crippled, the cibolero would be captured to a certainty; and both had
made up their minds, in case a good opportunity offered, to despatch the
noble animal.

These men knew a certain plan by which their victim could be killed or
captured--that is, supposing they had been certain he was in the cave--a
plan which could scarce have failed.  But yet, for reasons of their own,
they would not adopt it.

It would have been simple enough to have conducted a party of dragoons
to the head of the pass, and there have stationed them, while another
party entered the canon from below.  As the sides of the ravine were
impassable precipices, the retreat of the cibolero would have been thus
cut off at both ends.  True, to have reached the upper plain, without
going through the ravine itself--and that, as we have seen would have
defeated such a plan--would have cost a journey to the troop to be
stationed above.  But neither Vizcarra nor Roblado would have grudged
either the time or the men to have rendered success thus sure.  The
mulatto and his dusky camarado knew all this perfectly, but to have
caused such a plan to be put in execution was the last thought in their
minds.  Such a course would have been attended with but little peril to
them, but it would have brought as little pay, for every trooper in the
whole band would have claimed equal share in the promised reward.  That
would not be satisfactory to the hunters, whose heads and knowledge had
furnished the means and the ways.

Neither entertained any idea of following such a course.  Both were
confident in their ability to effect their object without aid from any
quarter.

From the time they had taken their station on the rock, half-an-hour was
all they had to wait.  At the end of that period the quick ears of both
caught the sound of some one coming from the direction of the ravine.
They heard a horse's hoof striking upon loose shingle, and the rattling
of the displaced pebbles.  A debris of broken fragments filled the
bottom of the ravine, brought there during rain-torrents.  Over this ran
the path.  A horseman was coming down it.

"The guero!" muttered the mulatto; "be sure, boy Pepe."

"Trust you for a guess, brother Man'l: you were right about the tracks
we first fell in with.  The cave's his hiding-place to a certainty.
We'll have him sure when he comes back.  _Carrai_! yonder he comes!"

As the zambo spake, a tall dark form was perceived approaching down the
ravine.  By the moon gleaming upon it, they could make out the figure of
a horse and rider.  They had no longer any doubt it was their intended
victim.

"Brother Man'l," whispered the zambo, "suppose he passes near! why not
bring down the horse? you can't miss in this fine light--both of us can
aim at the horse; if we stop him we'll easily overtake the guero."

"Won't do, boy Pepe--not easily overtake guero afoot.  Get off among
rocks--hide for days--can't track _him_ afoot--be on his guard after--
give us trouble--old plan best--let pass--have him safe when he come
back--have him sure."

"But Man'l--"

"Dam! no need for buts--always in a hurry, boy Pepe--have patience--no
buts, no fear.  See, now!"

This last exclamation was intended to point out to Pepe that his
suggestion, even though a wise one, could not have been carried out, as
the horseman was not going to pass within range of either rifle or
escopeta.

It was plain he was heading down the middle of the canon, keeping
equally distant from the sides, and this course would carry him out into
the open plain two hundred yards from the ambush of the hunters.

So did it, for in a few moments he was opposite the spot where they lay,
and at full that distance from them.  A shot from a hunter's rifle would
not have reached him, and the bullet of an escopeta would have been an
uncertain messenger.  Neither thought of firing, but lay in perfect
silence, firmly holding their dogs down in the crevice of the rocks, and
by gestures enjoining them to be still.

The horseman advanced, guiding his horse at a slow pace, and evidently
observing caution as he went.  While passing, the moon shone full upon
him, and the bright points of his harness and arms were seen sparkling
under her light.  His fair complexion, too, could be distinguished
easily, as also his fine erect figure, and the noble outlines of his
horse.

"The guero!" muttered Manuel; "all right, boy Pepe!"

"What's yon ahead?" inquired the zambo.

"Ha! didn't notice that.  Dam! a dog! dog, sure."

"It is a dog.  _Malraya_!"

"Devil roast that dog!--heard of him before--splendid dog, boy Pepe.
Dam! that dog give us trouble.  Lucky, wind t'other way.  Safe enough
now.  Dam! see!"

At this moment the horseman suddenly stopped, looking suspiciously in
the direction of the rocky spur where they lay.  The dog had given some
sign.

"Dam!" again muttered the mulatto; "that dog give us trouble yet--thank
our luck, wind t'other way."

There was not much wind either way, but what there was was in the faces
of the hunters, and blowing from the horseman.  Fortunately for them it
was so, also Cibolo would have scented them to a certainty.

Even as things stood, their ambush was near enough discovery.  Some
slight noise from that quarter--perhaps the hoof of one of their horses
against the turf--had awakened the dog's suspicions--though nothing had
been heard by his master.  Neither was the dog sure--for the next moment
he threw down his head and trotted on.  The horseman followed and in a
few minutes both were out of sight.

"Now, boy Pepe, for the cave!"

"_Vamos_!"

Both descended from the ridge, and, mounting their horses, rode through
among the scattered rocks.  They entered the ravine, and kept up its
edge until the gradual narrowing brought them into the same path by
which the horseman had lately descended.  Up this they rode, keeping
their eyes bent on the cliff to the right--for on that side was the
cave.

They had no fear of their tracks being discernible, even should the
guero return by daylight, for the path lay over hard rock already marked
by the hoofs of his own horse.  For all that the mulatto was uneasy; and
at intervals repeated half to himself, and half in the hearing of his
companion--

"Dam! dog give trouble, sure give trouble--dam!"

At length the mouth of the cave, like a dark spot upon the rock,
appeared on one side.  After silently dismounting, and leaving his horse
with Pepe, the mulatto crawled up the ledge and reconnoitred the
entrance.  Even the probability that some one might have been left there
was not overlooked by this keen hunter, and every precaution was taken.

After listening a moment at the entrance he sent in the dogs, and, as
neither bark nor howl came out again, he was satisfied that all was
safe.  He then crawled in himself, keeping on the shadowy side of the
rock.  When he had got fairly within the cavern, he struck a light, at
the same time shading it so that the gleam might not fall on the
outside.  With this he made a hurried examination of the interior; and,
now satisfied that the place was untenanted, he came out again, and
beckoned his comrade to bring up the horses.

These were led into the cave.  Another reconnaissance was made, in which
the few articles used by Carlos for eating and sleeping were discovered
upon a dry ledge.  A serape, a small hatchet for cutting firewood, an
olla for cooking, two or three cups, some pieces of jerked meat and
fragments of bread, were the contents of the cavern.

The best of these were appropriated by the intruders; and then, after
fastening their horses in a secure corner, and making themselves
thoroughly acquainted with the shape and position of the rocky interior,
the light was extinguished, and, like beasts of prey, they placed
themselves in readiness to receive their unsuspecting victim.



CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE.

Carlos, on leaving his cave, proceeded with the caution natural to one
circumstanced as he was.  But this night he was more than usually
careful.  He scanned every bush and rock that stood near his path, and
that might have sheltered an enemy.  Why to-night more cautious than
before?  Because a suspicion had crossed his mind--and that, too, having
reference to the very men who were at the moment in ambush so near him!

At various times of late had his thoughts reverted to these men.  He
knew them well, and knew the hostile feelings with which both, but
particularly the mulatto, regarded him.  He thought of the probability
of their being set upon his trail, and he knew their capability to
follow it.  This had made him _more_ uneasy than all the scouting of the
dragoons with their unpractised leaders.  He was aware that, if the
cunning mulatto and his scarce less sagacious comrade were sent after
him, his cave would not shelter him long, and there would be an end to
his easy communication with the settlement.

These thoughts were sources of uneasiness; and would have been still
more so, had he not believed that the hunters were absent upon the
plains.  Under this belief he had hopes of being able to settle his
affairs and get off before their return.  That morning, however, his
hopes had met with discouragement.

It was a little after daylight when he returned to his hiding-place.
Antonio, watched closely by the spies, had not been able to reach the
rendezvous until a late hour,--hence the detention of Carlos.  On going
back to his cave he had crossed a fresh trail coming in from the
northern end of the Llano Estacado.  It was a trail of horses, mules,
and dogs; and Carlos, on scrutinising it, soon acquainted himself with
the number of each that had passed.  He knew it was the exact number of
these animals possessed by the yellow hunter and his comrade; and this
startled him with the suspicion that it was the return trail of these
men from their hunt upon the prairies!

A further examination quite assured him of the truth of this.  The
footprints of one of the dogs differed from the rest; and although a
large one, it was not the track of the common wolf-dog of the country.
He had heard that the yellow hunter had lately become possessed of a
large bloodhound.  These must be _his_ tracks!

Carlos rode along the trail to a point where it had crossed an old path
of his own leading to the ravine.  To his astonishment he perceived
that, from this point, one of the horsemen, with several of the dogs,
had turned off and followed his own tracks in that direction!  No doubt
the man had been trailing him.  After going some distance, however, the
latter had turned again and ridden back upon his former course.

Carlos would have traced this party farther, as he knew they must have
passed on the evening before.  But as it was now quite day, and their
trail evidently led to the settlements, he dared not ride in that
direction, and therefore returned to his hiding-place.

The incident had rendered him thoughtful and apprehensive throughout the
whole of that day; and as he rode forth his reflections were upon this
very subject--hence the caution of his movements.

As he emerged from the ravine, the dog, as stated, made a demonstration,
by suddenly turning toward the rocks, and uttering a low growl.  This
caused Carlos to halt, and look carefully in that direction.  But he
could see nothing that appeared suspicious; and the dog, after a
moment's pause, appeared satisfied and trotted on again.

"Some wild animal, perhaps," thought Carlos, as he set his horse in
motion, and continued on over the plain.

When fairly out into the open ground, he quickened his pace; and after a
ride of about six or seven miles arrived on the banks of the Pecos.
Here he turned down-stream, and, once more riding with caution,
approached a grove of low timber that grew upon the bank.  This grove
was the point of rendezvous.

When within a hundred yards of it, the cibolero halted upon the plain.
The dog ran on before him, quartered the grove, and then returned to his
master.  The horseman then rode boldly in under the shadow of the trees,
and, dismounting, took station upon one side of the timber, to watch for
the coming of his expected messenger.

His vigil was not of long duration.  In a few minutes a man on foot,
bent into a crouching attitude, was seen rapidly advancing over the
plain.  When he had arrived within three hundred yards of the grove, he
stopped in his tracks, and uttered a low whistle.  To this signal the
cibolero replied, and the man, again advancing as before, was soon
within the shadow of the grove.  It was Antonio.

"Were you followed, amigo?" asked Carlos.

"As usual, master; but I had no difficulty in throwing them off."

"Hereafter it may not be so easy."

"How, master?"

"I know your news--the yellow hunter has got back?"

"Carrambo! it is even so!  How did you hear it, master?"

"This morning, after you had left me, I crossed a trail--I knew it must
be theirs."

"It was theirs, master.  They came in last evening but I have worse news
than that."

"Worse!--what?"

"They're after _you_!"

"Ha! already?  I guessed that they would be, but not so soon.  How know
you, Anton!"

"Josefa--she has a brother who is a kind of errand-boy to Padre Joaquin.
This morning the Padre took him over to the Presidio, and from there
sent him to guide Captain Roblado to the yellow hunter's hut.  The Padre
threatened the boy if he should tell any one; but on his return to the
mission he called on his mother; and Josefa, suspecting he had been on
some strange errand--for he showed a piece of silver--got it all out of
him.  He couldn't tell what Roblado and the hunters talked about, but he
fancied the latter were preparing to go somewhere as he left them.  Now,
putting one thing with another, I'm of the mind, master, they're on your
trail."

"No doubt of it, amigo--I haven't the slightest doubt of it.  So--I'll
be chased out of my cave--that's certain.  I believe they have a
suspicion of where I am already.  Well, I must try to find another
resting-place.  'Tis well I have got the wind of these rascals--they'll
not catch me asleep, which no doubt they flatter themselves they're
going to do.  What other news?"

"Nothing particular.  Josefa saw the girl Vicenza last night in company
with Jose, but she has had no opportunity of getting a word with the
senorita, who is watched closely.  She has some business with the
portero's wife to-morrow.  She hopes to hear something from her."

"Good Antonio," said Carlos, dropping a piece of money into the other's
hand, "give this to Josefa--tell her to be active.  Our hopes rest
entirely with her."

"Don't fear, master!" replied the half-blood.  "Josefa will do her best,
for the reason that," smiling, "_her_ hopes, I believe, rest entirely
upon _me_."

Carlos laughed at the _naive_ remark of his faithful companion, and then
proceeded to inquire about other matters,--about his mother and sister,
about the troopers, the spies, and Don Juan.

About the last Antonio could give him no information that was new.  Don
Juan had been arrested the day after the affair at the Presidio, and
ever since had been kept a close prisoner.  The charge against him was
his having been an accomplice of Carlos, and his trial would take place
whenever the latter should be captured.

Half-an-hour was spent in conversation, and then Carlos, having received
from the half-blood the packages containing provisions, prepared to
return to his hiding-place in the Llano Estacado.

"You will meet me here to-morrow night again, Anton," said he at
parting.  "If anything should happen to prevent me coming, then look for
me the night after, and the night after that.  So _buenas noches,
amigo_!"

"_Buenos noches, mi amo_!"  ("Good night, master!")

And with this salutation the friends--for they were go--turned their
backs on each other and parted.

Antonio went crouching back in the direction of the valley; while the
cibolero, springing to his saddle, rode off toward the frowning bluffs
of the Llano.



CHAPTER FIFTY SIX.

The "report" delivered by Antonio was of a character to have caused
serious apprehension to the cibolero--fear, in fact, had he been the man
to have such a feeling.  It had the effect of still further increasing
his caution, and his mind was now bent with all its energies upon the
craft of taking care of himself.

Had he contemplated an open fight, even with the two strong men who were
seeking him, he would have been less uneasy about the result; but he
knew that, strong as they were, these ruffians would not attack him
without some advantage.  They would make every effort to surprise him
asleep, or otherwise take him unawares.  Against their wiles he had now
to guard himself.

He rode slowly back to the ravine, his thoughts all the while busied
about the yellow hunter and his companion.

"They must know of the cave," so ran his reflections.  "Their following
my trail yesterday is an evidence that they suspected something in the
direction of the ravine.  They had no doubt heard of late affairs before
getting so far.  Some _hatero_ on the outer plains has told them all,
very like; well, what then?  They have hastened on to the mission.  Ha!
the Padre Joaquin took the boy over to the Presidio.  I see--I see--the
Padre is the `patron' of these two ruffians.  They have told him
something, else why should he be off to the Presidio so early?  News
from them--and then Roblado starting directly after to seek them!
Clear--clear--they have discovered my hiding-place!"

After a pause:--

"What if they have reached the ravine in my absence?  Let me see.  Yes,
they've had time enough to get round; that is, if they started soon
after Roblado's interview.  The boy thinks they did.  By Heaven! it's
not too soon for me to be on the alert."

As this thought passed through the cibolero's mind, he reined up his
horse; and, lowering his head, glanced along the neck of the animal into
the darkness before him.  He had now arrived at the mouth of the canon,
and nearly on the same track by which he had ridden out of it; but the
moon was under thick clouds, and the gloom of the ravine was no longer
relieved by her light.

"It would be their trick," reflected he, "to get inside the canon, at
its narrow part, and wait for me to come out of the cave.  They would
waylay me pretty handy there.  Now suppose they _are_ up the canon at
this moment!"

For a moment he paused and dwelt upon this hypothesis.  He proceeded
again.

"Well, let them; I'll ride on.  Cibolo can beat the rocks a shot's range
ahead of me.  If they're ambushed there without him finding them,
they'll be sharper fellows than I take them to be; and I don't consider
them flats, either, the scoundrels!  If he start them, I can soon gallop
back out of their reach.  Here!  Cibolo!"

The dog, that had stopped a few paces in front, now came running back,
and looked up in his master's face.  The latter gave him a sign,
uttering the simple word "Anda!"

At the word the animal sprang off, and commenced quartering the ground
for a couple of hundred yards in advance.

Following him, the horseman moved forward.

In this way he approached the point where the two walls converging
narrowed the canon to a space of little more than a hundred yards.
Along the bases of the cliffs, on both sides, lay large loose rocks,
that would have given cover to men in ambush, and even horses might have
been concealed behind them.

"This," thought Carlos, "would be the place chosen for their cowardly
attack.  They might hit me from either side with half an aim.  But
Cibolo makes no sign.--Ha!"

The last exclamation was uttered in a short sharp tone.  It had been
called forth by a low yelp from the dog.  The animal had struck the
trail where the yellow hunter and his companion had crossed to the
middle of the ravine.  The moon had again emerged from the clouds, and
Carlos could see the dog dashing swiftly along the pebbles and up the
ravine towards the mouth of the cavern!

His master would have called him back, for he was leaving the loose
rocks unsearched, and, without that being done, Carlos felt that it
would be perilous to proceed farther; but the swiftness with which the
dog had gone forward showed that he was on a fresh trail; and it now
occurred to the cibolero that his enemies might be within the cave
itself!

The thought had hardly crossed his mind when the dog uttered several
successive yelps!  Although he had got out of sight, his master knew
that he was at that moment approaching the mouth of the cave, and
running upon a fresh scent.

Carlos drew up his horse and listened.  He dare proceed no farther.  He
dared not recall the dog.  His voice would have been heard if any one
were near.  He reflected that he could do no better than wait till the
dog should return, or by his attack give some sign of what he was after.
It might, after all, be the grizzly bear, or some other animal, he was
pursuing.

The cibolero sat upon his horse in perfect silence--not unprepared
though for any sudden attack.  His true rifle lay across his thighs, and
he had already looked to its flint and priming.  He listened to every
sound, while his eyes pierced the dark recesses of the ravine before and
around him.

For only a few moments this uncertainty lasted, and then back down the
chasm came a noise that caused the listener to start in his saddle.  It
resembled the worrying of dogs, and for a moment Carlos fancied that
Cibolo had made his attack upon a bear!  Only a moment did this illusion
last, for his quick ear soon detected the voices of more dogs than one;
and in the fierce confusion he distinguished the deep-toned bark of a
_bloodhound_!

The whole situation became clear to him at once.  His enemies had been
awaiting him in the cave--for from it he was certain that the sounds
proceeded.

His first instinct was to wheel his horse and gallop out of the canon.
He waited a moment, however, and listened.

The worrying noise continued, but, amid the roar find barking of the
dogs, Carlos could distinguish the voices of men, uttered in low hurried
tones, as if addressing the dogs and also one another.

All at once the conflict appeared to cease, for the animals became
silent, except the hound, who at intervals gave out his deep loud bray.
In a moment more he, too, was silent.

Carlos knew by this silence that Cibolo had either been killed upon the
spot, or, having been attacked by men, had sheered off.  In either case
it would be of no use waiting his return.  If alive, he knew that the
dog would follow and overtake him.  Without further delay, therefore, he
turned his horse's head, and galloped back down the ravine.



CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN.

On arriving at the month of the ravine he halted--not in the middle of
the plain, but under the shadow of the rocks--the same rocks where the
hunters had placed themselves in ambush.  He did not dismount, but sat
in his saddle, gazing up the canon, and listening for some token of the
expected pursuit.

He had not been long in this spot when he perceived a dark object
approaching him.  It gave him joy, for he recognised Cibolo coming along
his trail.  The next moment the dog was by his stirrup.  The cibolero
bent down in his saddle, and perceived that the poor brute was badly cut
and bleeding profusely.  Several gashes appeared along his side, and one
near his shoulder exhibited a flap of hanging skin, over which the red
stream was pouring.  The animal was evidently weak from loss of blood,
and tottered in his tracks.

"Amigo!" said Carlos, "you have saved my life to a certainty.  It's my
turn to save yours--if I can."

As he said this he dismounted, and, taking the dog in his arms, climbed
back into the saddle.

For a while he sat reflecting what to do, with his eyes turned in the
direction from which he expected the pursuit.

He had now no doubt as to who were the occupants of the cave.  The bay
of the hound was satisfactory evidence of the presence of the yellow
hunter, and of course the zambo was along with him.  Carlos knew of no
other bloodhound in the settlement--the one heard must be that of the
mulatto.

For some minutes he remained by the rocks, considering what course he
had best take.

"I'll ride on to the grove," reflected he, "and hide in it till Antonio
comes.  They can't track me this night--it will be too dark.  The whole
sky is becoming clouded--there will be no more moon to-night I can lie
hid all day to-morrow, if they don't follow.  If they do, why, I can see
them far enough off to ride away.  My poor Cibolo, how you bleed!
Heavens, what a gash!  Patience, brave friend!  When we halt, your
wounds shall be looked to.  Yes! to the grove I'll go.  They won't
suspect me of taking that direction, as it is towards the settlements.
Besides they can't trail me in the darkness.  Ha! what am I thinking
of?--not trail me in the darkness!  What!  I had forgotten the
bloodhound!  O God, preserve me!  These fiends can follow me were it as
dark as pitch!  God preserve me!"

An anxious expression came over his countenance, and partly from the
burden he held in his arms, and partly from the weight of his thoughts,
he dropped into an attitude that betokened deep depression.  For the
first time the hunted outlaw showed symptoms of despair.

For a long while he remained with his head leaning forward, and his body
bent over the neck of his horse.

But he had not yet yielded to despair.

All at once he started up, as if some thought, suddenly conceived, had
given him hopes.  A new resolution seemed to have been taken.

"Yes!" he soliloquised, "I shall go to the grove--direct to the grove.
Ha! you bloodthirsty yellow-skin, I'll try your boasted skill.  We shall
see--we shall see.  Maybe you'll get your reward, but not that you are
counting upon.  You have yet something to do before you take the scalp
of Carlos the cibolero!"

Muttering these words he turned his horse's head, renewed his hold of
the dog and the bridle, and set off across the plain.

He rode at a rapid pace, and without casting a look behind him.  He
appeared to be in a hurry, though it could not be from fear of being
overtaken.  No one was likely to come up with him, so long as he kept on
at such a pace.

He was silent, except now and then when he addressed some kind word to
the dog Cibolo, whose blood ran over his thighs, and down the flanks of
the horse.  The poor brute was weak, and could no longer have kept his
feet.

"Patience, old friend!--patience!--you shall soon have rest from this
jolting."

In less than an hour he had reached the lone grove on the Pecos--the
same where he had lately parted with Antonio.  Here he halted.  It was
the goal of his journey.  Within that grove he had resolved on passing
the remainder of the night, and, if not disturbed, the whole of the
following day.

The Pecos at this point, and for many miles above and below, ran between
low banks that rose vertically from the water.  On both sides its
"bottom" was a smooth plain, extending for miles back, where it stepped
up to a higher level.  It was nearly treeless.  Scattered clumps grew at
distant intervals, and along its margin a slight fringing of willows.
This fringe was not continuous, but broken here and there by gaps,
through which the water might be seen.  The timber clumps were composed
of cotton-wood trees and live-oak, with acacias forming an underwood,
and occasionally plants of cactus growing near.

These groves were so small, and so distant from each other, that they
did not intercept the general view of the surface, and a person
occupying one of them could see a horseman, or other large object, at a
great distance.  A man concealed in them could not have been approached
by his enemy in daylight, if awake and watching.  At night, of course,
it was different, and the security then afforded depended upon the
degree of darkness.

The "motte" at which the cibolero had arrived was far apart from any of
the others, and commanded a view of the river bottom on both sides for
more than a mile's distance.  The grove itself was but a few acres in
size, but the fringe of willows running along the stream at both ends
gave it, when viewed from a distance, the appearance of a wood of larger
dimensions.  It stood upon the very bank of the stream, and the selvedge
of willows looked like its prolongation.  These, however, reached but a
few feet from the water's edge, while the grove timber ran out several
hundred yards into the plain.

About this grove there was a peculiarity.  Its central part was not
timbered, but open, and covered only with a smooth sward of
gramma-grass.  It was, in fact, a glade, nearly circular in shape, and
about a hundred yards in diameter.  On one side of this glade the river
impinged, its bank being almost a tangent line to it.  Here there was a
gap in the timber, so that out of the glade could be obtained a view of
the bottom on the other side of the stream.  Diametrically opposite to
this gap another opening, of an avenue-like form, led out into the
adjacent plain, so that the grove was in reality bisected by an open
line, which separated it into two groves, nearly equal in extent.  This
separation could only be observed from certain positions in the plain--
one on each side of the river.

The glade, the avenue of a dozen yards loading from it to the outside
plain, and the plain itself, were all perfectly level, and covered with
a smooth turf.  Any object upon their surface would be easily
perceptible at a distance.  The grove was thickly stocked with
underwood--principally the smaller species of "mezquite."  There was
also a network of vines and llianas that, stretching upward, twined
around the limbs of the live-oaks--the latter forming the highest and
largest timber of all.  The underwood was impenetrable to the eye,
though a hunter could have crept through it in pursuit of game.  At
night, however, even under moonlight, it appeared a dark and impassable
thicket.

On one side of the glade, where the ground was dry and sandy, there
stood a small clump of _pitahaya_ cactus.  There were not over a dozen
plants in all, but two or three of them were large specimens, sending up
their soft succulent limbs nearly as high as the live-oaks.  Standing by
themselves in massive columns, and so unlike the trees that surrounded
them, they gave a peculiar character to the scene; and the eye,
unaccustomed to these gigantic candelabra, would scarce have known to
what kingdom of nature they belonged--so unlike were they to the
ordinary forms of vegetation.

Such were the features of the spot where the hunted outlaw sought
shelter for the night.



CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT.

Carlos spoke the truth, when he gave his dog the credit of having saved
his life, or, at all events, his liberty, which in the end amounted to
the same thing.  But for the sagacious brute having preceded him, he
would certainly have entered the cave, and as certainly would he have
been captured.

His cunning adversaries had taken every step necessary for securing him.
They had hidden their horses far back in the cavern.  They had placed
themselves behind the jutting rocks--one on each side of the entrance--
so that the moment he should have shown himself they were prepared to
spring upon him like a brace of tigers.

Their dogs, too, were there to aid them--crouched by the side of their
masters, and along with them, ready to seize upon the unsuspecting
victim.

It was a well-planned ambuscade, and so far well-executed.  The secrecy
with which the hunters had left the settlement, and made their
roundabout journey--their adroit approach to the ravine--their patient
behaviour in watching till Carlos had ridden out of the way, and their
then taking possession of the cave, were all admirably executed
manoeuvres.

How was it possible the cibolero could be aware of, or even suspect,
their presence?  They did not for a moment fancy that he knew of their
return from their hunting expedition.  It was quite dark the night
before, when they had passed up the valley to the mission; and after
unpacking the produce of their hunt, which had been done without
observation, the Padre Joaquin had enjoined on them not to show
themselves in the town before he should send them word.  But few of the
mission servants, then, knew of their return; and for the rest, no one
knew anything who would or could have communicated it to Carlos.
Therefore, reasoned they, he could have no suspicion of their being in
the cave.  As to their trail up the ravine, he would not notice it on
his return.  He would only strike it where it led over the shingle, and,
of course, there it would not be visible even in daylight.

Never was a trap better set.  He would walk into the cave
unsuspectingly, and perhaps leading his horse.  They would spring upon
him--dogs and all--and pinion him before he could draw either pistol or
knife!  There seemed no chance for him.

For all that there _was_ a chance, as the yellow hunter well knew; and
it was that which caused him at intervals to mutter--

"Dam! fear dog give us trouble, boy Pepe."

To this the zambo's only response was the bitter shibboleth--"_Carajo_!"
showing that both were uneasy about the dog.  Long before this time both
had heard of the fame of Cibolo, though neither had a full knowledge of
the perfect training to which that sagacious animal had attained.

They reflected that, should the dog enter the cave first, they would be
discovered by him, and warning given to his master.  Should he enter it
before the latter had got near, the chances were that their ambuscade
would prove a failure.  On the other hand, should the dog remain in the
rear, all would go right.  Even should he approach at the same time with
his master, so that the latter might get near without being alarmed,
there would still be a chance of their rushing out upon and shooting
either horse or rider.

Thus reasoned these two treacherous ruffians in the interim of the
cibolero's absence.

They had not yet seated themselves in the positions they designed to
take by the entrance of the cave.  They could occupy these at a moment's
warning.  They stood under the shadow of the rocks, keeping watch down
the ravine.  They knew they might be a long time on their vigil, and
they made themselves as comfortable as possible by consuming the meagre
stock of provisions which the cibolero had left in the cave.  The
mulatto, to keep out the cold, had thrown the newly appropriated blanket
upon his shoulders.  A gourd of chingarito, which they had taken care to
bring with them, enabled them to pass the time cheerfully enough.  The
only drawback upon their mirth was the thought of the dog Cibolo, which
every now and again intruded itself upon the mind of the yellow hunter,
as well as upon that of his darker confrere.

Their vigil was shorter than either had anticipated.  They fancied that
their intended victim might make a long ride of it--perhaps to the
borders of the settlement--that he might have business that would detain
him, and that it might be near morning before he would get back.

In the midst of those conjectures, and while it still wanted some hours
of midnight, the mulatto, whose eyes were bent down the ravine, was seen
suddenly to start, and grasp his companion by the sleeve.

"Look!--yonder, boy Pepe!  Yonder come guero!"

The speaker pointed to a form approaching from the plain, and nearing
the narrow part of the ravine.  It was scarce visible by the uncertain
light, and just possible to distinguish it as the form of a man on
horseback.

"Carr-rr-a-ai! it is--carr-r-ai!" replied the zambo, after peering for
some time through the darkness.

"Keep close in, boy Pepe! hwish!  Pull back dog! take place--lie close--
I watch outside--hwish!"

The zambo took his station according to the plan they had agreed upon;
while the yellow hunter, bloodhound in hand, remained by the entrance of
the cave.  In a few moments the latter was seen to start up with a
gesture of alarm.

"Dam!" he exclaimed.  "Dam! told you so--till lost--ready, boy Pepe--dog
on our trail!"

"Carajo, Man'l! what's to be done?" eagerly inquired the zambo.

"In--in--let come in--kill 'im in cave--in!"

Both rushed inside and stood waiting.  They had hastily formed the
design of seizing the cibolero's dog the moment he should enter the
cave, and strangling him if possible.

In this design they were disappointed; for the animal, on reaching the
mouth of the cave, refused to enter, but stopped upon the ledge outside
and commenced barking loudly.

The mule uttered a cry of disappointment, and, dropping the bloodhound,
rushed forward, knife in hand, to attack Cibolo.  At the same moment the
hound sprang forward, and the two dogs became engaged in a desperate
conflict.  This would have terminated to the disadvantage of the hound,
but, in another moment, all four--mulatto, zambo, hound, and wolf--were
assailing Cibolo both with knives and teeth.  The latter, seeing himself
thus overmatched, and having already received several bad cuts,
prudently retreated among the rocks.

He was not followed, as the ruffians had still some hopes that the
cibolero, not suspecting what it could mean, might yet advance towards
the cave.  But these hopes were of short duration.  Next moment through
the dim light they perceived the horseman wheel round, and gallop off
towards the mouth of the ravine!

Exclamations of disappointment, profane ejaculations, and wild oaths,
echoed for some minutes through the vaulted cavern.

The excited ruffians at length became more cool, and, groping about in
the darkness, got hold of their horses, and led them out upon the ledge.
Here they stopped to give farther vent to their chagrin, and to
deliberate on their future course.

To attempt immediate pursuit would not avail them, as they well know the
cibolero would be many a mile out of their reach before they could
descend to the plain.

For a long time they continued to give utterance to expressions of
chagrin, mingled with anathemas upon the head of the dog, Cibolo.  At
length becoming tired of this, they once more set their heads to
business.

The zambo was of opinion it would be useless to go farther that night--
they had no chance of coming up with the cibolero before morning--in
daylight they would more easily make out his trail.

"Boy Pepe, fool!" was the mulatto's reply to these observations.  "Track
by daylight--be seen--spoil all, fool Pepe!"

"Then what way, brother Man'l?"

"Dam! forgot bloodhound?  Trail by night fast as ride--soon overtake
guero."

"But, brother Man'l, he's not going to stop short of ten leagues from
here!  We can't come up with him to-night, can we?"

"Fool again, boy Pepe!  Stop within ten miles--stop because won't think
of bloodhound--won't think can trail 'im--stop, sure.  Dam! that dog
played devil--thought he would--dam!"

"Malraya! _he_ won't trouble us any more."

"Why think that, boy Pepe?"

"Why, brother Man'l! because I had my blade into him.  He'll not limp
much farther, I warrant."

"Dam! wish could think so--if could think so, give double onza.  But for
dog have guero now.  But for dog, get guero before sun up.  Stop soon--
don't suspect us yet--don't suspect hound--stop, I say.  By mighty God--
sure!"

"How, brother Man'l? you think he'll not go far off?"

"Sure of it.  Guero not ride far--nowhere to go--soon trail 'im--find
'im asleep--crawl on 'im but for dog--crawl on 'im sure."

"If you think so, then I don't believe you need trouble yourself about
the dog.  If he lives twenty minutes after the stab I gave him, he's a
tough brute, that's all.  You find the guero, I promise you'll find no
dog with him."

"Hope so, boy Pepe--try anyhow.  Come!"  Saying this, the yellow hunter
straddled his horse, and followed by the zambo and the dogs commenced
moving down the rocky channel of the ravine.



CHAPTER FIFTY NINE.

Having arrived at the point where the horseman had been last seen, the
mulatto dismounted, and called up the bloodhound.  He addressed some
words to the dog, and by a sign set him on the trail.  The animal
understood what was wanted, and, laying his nose to the ground, ran
forward silently.  The hunter again climbed back to his saddle, and both
he and his companion spurred their horses so as to keep pace with the
bloodhound.

This was easy enough, though the moon was no longer seen.  The colour of
the dog--a very light red--rendered him conspicuous against the dark
greensward, and there were neither bushes nor long grass to hide him.
Moreover, by the instruction of his master, he moved slowly along the
trail--although the scent was still fresh, and he could have gone at a
much faster rate.  He had been trained to track slowly in the night, and
also to be silent about it, so that the "bay" peculiar to his race was
not heard.

It was two hours, full time, before they came in sight of the grove
where the cibolero had halted.  The moment the mulatto saw the timber,
he pointed to it, muttering to his companion:--

"See, boy Pepe! dog make for island--see!  Bet onza guero there.  Dam!
there sure!"

When they had arrived within five or six hundred yards of the grove--it
was still but dimly visible under the darkening sky--the yellow hunter
called the dog off the trail, and ordered him to keep behind.  He knew
that the horseman must have passed either into the grove or close beside
it.  In either case his trail could be easily taken up again.  If--as
the mulatto from his excited manner evidently believed--their victim was
still in the grove, then the dog's sagacity was no longer needed.  The
time was come for them to take other measures.

Diverging from his forward course, the yellow hunter rode in a circle,
keeping at about the same distance from the edge of the timber.  He was
followed by his companion and the dogs.

When opposite the gap made by the avenue, a bright blaze struck suddenly
upon their eyes, causing both to rein up with an exclamation of
surprise.  They had arrived at a point commanding a view of the glade,
in the centre of which they perceived a large fire!

"Told so, boy Pepe! fool's asleep yonder--never dream could trail him by
night--don't like cold--good fire--believe safe enough.  Know that
glade--cunning place--only see fire from two points.  Ha! yonder horse!"

The figure of a horse standing near the fire was plainly discernible
under the light.

"Dam!" continued the hunter; "guero bigger fool than thought 'im.
Mighty God, see! believe 'im sleep yonder! him, sure!"

As the mulatto uttered these words, he pointed to a dark form by the
fire.  It appeared to be the body of a man, prostrate and asleep.

"_Santisima_, it is!" replied the zambo.  "Snug by the fire too.  He
_is_ a fool! but, sure enough, he could have no thought of our following
him in a night so dark as this."

"Hwish, dam! dog not there, guero ours!  No more talk, boy Pepe! follow
me!"

The mulatto headed his horse, not direct for the grove, but for a point
on the bank of the river some distance below.  They rode silently, but
now with more rapidity.

Their victim was just where they would have wished him, and they were in
a hurry to take advantage of his situation.  The nature of the ground
was well-known to both, for they had shot deer from the cover of that
very copse.

On arriving at the river bank, both dismounted; and having tied both
their horses and dogs to the willows, they commenced moving forward in
the direction of the grove.

They observed less caution than they might otherwise have done.  They
felt certain their victim was asleep by the fire.  Fool, they thought
him! but then how was he to have suspected their presence?  The most
cunning might have deemed himself secure under such circumstances.  It
was natural enough that he had gone to sleep, wearied as no doubt he
was.  Natural, too, that he had kindled a fire.  The night had become
unpleasantly cold, and it would have been impossible to sleep without a
fire.  All that seemed natural enough.

They reached the edge of the grove, and without hesitation crawled into
the underwood.

The night was still, the breeze scarce turned a leaf, and the slightest
rustling among the bushes could have been heard in any part of the
glade.  A low murmur of water from a distant rapid, a light ripple in
the nearer stream, the occasional howl of the prairie wolf, and the
dismal wailing of nightbirds, were the only sounds that fell upon the
ear.

But although the man-stalkers were making their way through thick
underwood, not a sound betokened their advance.  There was no rustling
of leaves, no snapping of twigs, no crackling of dead sticks under the
pressure of hand or knee, no signs of human presence within that dark
shrubbery.  These men well knew how to thread the thicket.  Silent, as
the snake glides through the grass, was their advance.

In the glade reigned perfect silence.  In its very centre blazed a large
fire that lit up the whole surface with its brilliant flames.  It was
easy to distinguish the form of a fine steed--the steed of the
cibolero--standing near the fire; and, nearer still, the prostrate form
of his master, who seemed asleep!  Yes, there were the manga, the
sombrero, the botas and spurs.  There was the lazo reaching from the
neck of the horse, and, no doubt, wound around the arm of the sleeper!
All these points could be determined at a glance.

The horse started, struck the ground with his hoof and then stood still
again!

What had he heard?  Some wild beast moving near?

No, not a wild beast--worse than that.

Upon the southern edge of the glade a face looked out from the
underwood--a human face!  It remained but a moment, and was then drawn
back behind the leaves.  That face could easily have been recognised,
his yellow complexion, conspicuous under the glare of the blazing wood,
told to whom it belonged.  It was the face of Manuel the mulatto.

For some moments it remained behind the leafy screen.  Then it was
protruded as before, and close beside it another face of darker hue.
Both were turned in the same direction.  Both regarded the prostrate
form by the fire, that still appeared to be sound asleep!  The eyes of
both were gleaming with malignant triumph.  Success seemed certain--
their victim was at length within their power!

The faces were again withdrawn, and for a minute neither sound nor sight
gave any indication of their presence.  At the end of that minute,
however, the head of the mulatto was again protruded, but this time at a
different point, close to the surface of the ground, and where there was
an opening in the underwood.

In a moment more his whole body was drawn through, and appeared in a
recumbent position within the glade.

The head and body of the zambo followed; and both now glided silently
over the grass in the direction of the sleeper.  Flat upon their
bellies, like a pair of huge lizards, they moved, one following in the
other's trail!

The mulatto was in the advance.  His right hand grasped a long-blade,
knife, while his gun was carried in the left.

They moved slowly and with great caution--though ready at any moment to
spring forward should their victim awake and become aware of their
presence.

The unconscious sleeper lay between them and the fire.  His form cast a
shadow over the sward.  Into this they crept, with the view of better
concealment, and proceeded on.

At length the mulatto arrived within three feet of the prostrate body;
and gathering himself, he rose upon his knees with the intention of
making a spring forward.  The sudden erection of his body brought his
face full into the light, and rendered it a conspicuous object.  His
time was come.

The whip-like crack of a rifle was heard, and at the same instant a
stream of fire shot out from the leafy top of a live-oak that stood near
the entrance of the avenue.  The mulatto suddenly sprang to his feet,
threw out his arms with a wild cry, staggered a pace or two, and,
dropping both knife and gun, fell forward into the fire!

The zambo also leaped to his feet; and, believing the shot had come from
the pretended sleeper, precipitated himself upon the latter, knife in
hand, and drove his blade with desperate earnestness into the side of
the prostrate form.

Almost on the instant he leaped back with a yell of terror; and, without
stopping to assist his fallen comrade, rushed off over the glade, and
disappeared into the underwood.  The figure by the fire remained
prostrate and motionless.

But at this moment a dark form was seen to descend through the branches
of the live-oak whence the shot had come; a shrill whistle rang through
the glade; and the steed, dragging his lazo, galloped up under the tree.

A man, half-naked, and carrying a long rifle, dropped upon the horse's
back; and the next instant both horse and man disappeared through the
avenue, having gone off at full speed in the direction of the plain!



CHAPTER SIXTY.

Who was he then who lay by the fire?  Not Carlos the cibolero!  It was
his manga--his botas--his hat and spurs--his complete habiliments!

True, but Carlos was not in them.  He it was who, half-naked, had
dropped from the tree, and galloped off upon the horse!  A mystery!

Less than two hours before we left him where he had arrived--upon the
edge of the grove.  How had he been employed since then?  A knowledge of
that will explain the mystery.

On reaching the grove he had ridden direct through the avenue and into
the glade, where he reined up his horse and dismounted.  Cibolo was
gently laid upon the soft grass, with a kind expression; but his wounds
remained undressed for the present.  His master had no time for that.
He had other work to do, which would occupy him for the next hour.

With a slack bridle his horse was left to refresh himself on the sward,
while Carlos proceeded to the execution of a design that had been
matured in his mind during his long gallop.

His first act was to make a fire.  The night had grown chill enough to
give excuse for one.  It was kindled near the centre of the glade.  Dry
logs and branches were found among the underwood, and these were brought
forward and heaped upon the pile, until the flames blazed up, illuming
the glade to its very circumference.  The huge pitahayas, gleaming in
the red light, looked like columns of stone; and upon these the eyes of
the cibolero were now turned.

Proceeding towards them, knife in hand, he commenced cutting through the
stem of the largest, and its tall form was soon laid prostrate upon the
grass.  When down, he hewed both stem and branches into pieces of
various length, and then dragged them up to the side of the fire.
Surely he did not mean to add them to the pile!  These green succulent
masses would be more likely to subdue the flame than contribute to its
brilliancy.

Carlos had no such intention.  On the contrary, he placed the pieces
several feet from the fire, arranging them in such a manner as to
imitate, as nearly as possible, the form and dimensions of a human body.
Two cylindrical pieces served for the thighs, and two more for the
arms, and these were laid in the attitude that would naturally be
adopted by a person in repose or asleep.  The superior shoulder was
represented by the "elbow" of the plant; and when the whole structure
was covered over with the ample "manga" of the cibolero, it assumed a
striking resemblance to the body of a man lying upon his side!

The head, lower limbs, and feet, were yet wanting to complete the
design--for it _was_ a design.  These were soon supplied.  A round clew
of grass was formed; and this, placed at a small distance from the
shoulders by means of a scarf and the cibolero's hat, was made to look
like the thing for which it was intended--a human head.  The hat was
slouched over the ball of grass so as nearly to conceal it, and seemed
as if so placed to keep the dew or the musquitos from the face of the
sleeper!

The lower limbs and feet only remained to be counterfeited.  With these
considerable pains had to be taken, since, being nearest to the fire--
according to the way in which hunters habitually sleep--they would be
more exposed to observation than any other part.

All these points had been already considered by the cibolero; and,
therefore, without stopping for a moment he proceeded to finish his
work.  His leathern "botas" were pulled off, and adjusted at a slight
angle to the thighs of pitahaya, and in such a way that the rim of the
ample cloak came down over their tops.  The huge spurs were allowed to
remain on the boots, and could be seen from a distance gleaming in the
blaze of the fire.

A few more touches and the counterfeit was complete.

He that had made it now stepped back to the edge of the glade, and,
passing around, examined it from different points.  He appeared
satisfied.  Indeed, no one would have taken the figure for anything but
that of a sleeping traveller who had lain down without taking off his
spurs.

Carlos now returned to the fire, and uttering a low signal brought the
horse up to his hand.  He led the animal some paces out, and tightened
the bridle-rein by knotting it over the horn of the saddle.  This the
well-trained steed knew to be a command for him to give over browsing,
and stand still in that same place until released by the hand of his
master, or by a well-known signal he had been taught to obey.  The lazo
fastened to the bit-ring was next uncoiled.  One end of the rope was
carried to the prostrate figure, and placed under the edge of the manga,
as though the sleeper held it in his hand!

Once more the cibolero passed round the circumference of the glade, and
surveyed the grouping in the centre.  Again he appeared satisfied; and,
re-entering the thicket, he brought out a fresh armful of dry wood and
flung it on the fire.

He now raised his eyes, and appeared to scrutinise the trees that grew
around the glade.  His gaze rested upon a large live-oak standing at the
inner entrance of the avenue, and whose long horizontal limbs stretched
over the open ground.  The top branches of this tree were covered
thickly with its evergreen frondage, and laced with vines and
_tillandsia_ formed a shady canopy.  Besides being the tallest tree, it
was the most ample and umbrageous--in fact, the patriarch of the grove.

"'Twill do," muttered Carlos, as he viewed it.  "Thirty paces--about
that--just the range.  They'll not enter by the avenue.  No--no danger
of that; and if they did--but no--they'll come along the bank by the
willows--yes, sure to do so:--now for Cibolo."

He glanced for a moment at the dog, that was still lying where he had
been placed.

"Poor fellow! he has had it in earnest.  He'll carry the marks of their
cowardly knives for the rest of his days.  Well--he may live long enough
to know that he has been avenged--yes! that may he.  But what shall I do
with him?"

After considering a minute, he continued:--

"Carrambo!  I lose time.  There's a half-hour gone, and if they've
followed at all they'll be near by this time.  Follow they can with
their long-eared brute, and I hope he'll guide them true.  What can I do
with Cibolo?  If I tie him at the root of the tree, he'll lie quiet
enough, poor brute!  But then, suppose they should come this way!  I
don't imagine they will.  I shouldn't if I were in their place; but
suppose they should, the dog would be seen, and might lead them to
suspect something wrong.  They might take a fancy to glance up the tree,
and then--No, no, it won't do--something else must be done with Cibolo."

Here he approached the root of the live-oak, and looked inquiringly up
among its branches.

After a moment he seemed to be satisfied with his scrutiny.  He had
formed a new resolution.

"It will do," he muttered.  "The dog can lie upon those vines.  I'll
plait them a little for him, and cover them with moss."

Saying this, he caught hold of the lower limbs, and sprang up into the
tree.

After dragging down some of the creeping vines, he twined them between
the forks of a branch, so as to form a little platform.  He next tore
off several bundles of the _tillandsia_, and placed it over the spot
thus wattled.

When the platform was completed to his satisfaction, he leaped down
again; and, taking the animal in his arms, carried him up to the tree,
and placed him gently upon the moss, where the dog lay quietly down.

To dispose of himself was the next consideration.  That was a matter of
easy accomplishment, and consisted in laying hold of his rifle, swinging
his body back into the tree, and seating himself firmly among the
branches.

He now arranged himself with care upon his seat.  One branch, a stout
one, supported his body, his feet rested upon another, while a third
formed a stay for his arms.  In a fork lay the barrel of his long rifle,
the stock firmly grasped in his hands.

He looked with care to this weapon.  Of course it was already loaded,
but, lest the night-dew might have damped the priming, he threw up the
pan-cover, with his thumb-nail scraped out the powder, and then poured
in a fresh supply from his horn.  This he adjusted with his picker,
taking care that a portion of it should pass into the touch-hole, and
communicate with the charge inside.  The steel was then returned to its
place, and the flint duly looked to.  Its state of firmness was felt,
its edge examined.  Both appeared to be satisfactory, so the piece was
once more brought to its rest in the fork of the branch.

The cibolero was not the man to trust to blind chance.  Like all of his
calling, he believed in the wisdom of precautions.  No wonder he adopted
them so minutely in the present instance.  The neglect of any one of
them might be fatal to him.  The flashing of that rifle might cost him
his life!  No wonder he was particular about the set of his flint, and
the dryness of his powder.

The position he occupied was well chosen.  It gave him a view of the
whole glade, and no object as large as a cat could enter the opening
without being seen by him.

Silently he sat gazing around the circle of green shrubbery--silently
and anxiously--for the space of nearly an hour.

His patient vigil was at length rewarded.  He saw the yellow face as it
peered from the underwood, and for a moment hesitated about firing at it
then.  He had even taken sight upon it, when it was drawn back!

A little longer he waited--till the mulatto, rising to his knees,
offered his face full in the blazing light.  At that moment his finger
pressed the trigger, and his unerring bullet passed through the brain of
his treacherous foeman!



CHAPTER SIXTY ONE.

The zambo had disappeared in the underwood almost at the same instant
that Carlos had mounted and galloped out through the avenue.  Not a
living creature remained in the glade.

The huge body lay with arms outstretched, one of them actually across
the blazing pile!  Its weight, pressing down the faggots, half-obscured
their light.  Enough there was to exhibit the ghastly face mottled with
washes of crimson.  There was no motion in either body or limbs--no more
than in that of the counterfeit form that was near.  Dead was the yellow
hunter--dead!  The hot flame that licked his arm, preparing to devour
it, gave him no pain.  Fire stirs not the dead!

Where were the others?  They had gone off in directions nearly opposite!
Were they flying from each other?

The zambo had gone back in the same direction whence he had come.  He
had gone in a very different manner though.  After disappearing behind
the leafy screen, he had not halted, but rushed on like one terrified
beyond the power of controlling himself.  The cracking of dead sticks,
and the loud rustling among the bushes, told that he was pressing
through the grove in headlong flight.  These noises had ceased--so, too,
the echo of hoofs which for a while came back from the galloping horse
of the cibolero.

Where were they now--zambo and cibolero?  Had they fled from each other?
It would have seemed so from the relative directions in which they had
gone.

It was not so in reality.  Whatever desire the zambo might have felt to
get away from that spot, his antagonist had no such design.  The latter
had galloped out of the glade, but not in flight.

He knew the zambo well enough to tell that his courage was now gone.
The sudden loss of his comrade, and under such mysterious circumstances,
had terrified the black, and would paralyse him almost beyond the power
of resistance.  He would think of nothing else but making his escape.
Carlos knew that.

The quick intellect of the latter had taught him whence his enemies had
come--from the lower or southern side of the grove.  He had, indeed,
been loosing for them in that direction, and, while scrutinising the
underwood, had given most attention to that edge of the glade lying to
the south.  He conjectured that they would deem this the safest way to
approach him, and his conjectures proved true.

Their horses would be left at some distance off, lest the stroke of
their hoofs might alarm him.  This, too, was his conjecture, and a just
one.  Still another, also just, was that the zambo was now making for
the horses!  This last occurred to Carlos as he saw the other rushing
off into the underwood.

Just what the zambo was doing.  Seeing his leader fall so mysteriously,
he thought no longer of an encounter.  Flight was his only impulse--to
get back to the horses, mount and ride off, his one purpose.  He had
hopes that Carlos would not hastily follow--that he might escape under
cover of the darkness.

He was mistaken.  It was just to defeat this purpose that Carlos had
galloped forth.  He, too, was resolved to make for the horses!

Once in the open plain, he wheeled to the right, and rode round the
grove.  On reaching a point where he could command a view of the river
he reined up.  His object in doing so was to reload his rifle.

He threw the piece into a vertical position, at the same time groping
for his powder-horn.  To his surprise he could not get his hands upon
it, and on looking down he saw that it was gone!  The strap by which it
had been suspended was no longer over his shoulders.  It had been caught
upon a branch, and lifted off as he had leaped from the tree!

Annoyed with this misfortune, he was about turning his horse to hurry
back to the live-oak, when his eye fell upon a dark figure gliding over
the plain, and close in to the fringe of willows by the river.  Of
course it was the fleeing zambo--there could be no doubt of that.

Carlos hesitated.  Should he return for the powder-horn, and then waste
time in reloading, the zambo might escape.  He would soon reach the
horses, and mount.  Had it been day Carlos could easily have overtaken
him, but not so under the night darkness.  Five hundred yards' start
would have carried him safe out of sight.

The cibolero was full of anxiety.  He had ample reasons to wish that
this man should die.  Prudence as well as a natural feeling of revenge
prompted this wish.  The cowardly manner in which these hired ruffians
had dogged him had awakened his vengeance.  Besides, while either lived,
the outlaw knew he would have a dangerous enemy.  The zambo must not
escape!

It was but for a moment that Carlos hesitated.  Should he wait to reload
his rifle the other would get off.  This reflection decided him.  He
dropped the piece to the ground, turned his horse's head, and shot
rapidly across the plain in the direction of the river.  In a dozen
seconds he reined up in front of his skulking foe.

The latter, seeing himself cut off from the horses, halted and stood at
bay, as if determined to fight.  But before Carlos could dismount to
close with him, his heart once more gave way; and, breaking through the
willows, he plunged into the river.

Carlos had not calculated upon this.  He stood for some moments in a
state of surprise and dismay.  Would the fiend escape him?  He had come
to the ground.  Whether should he mount again or follow on foot?

He was not long irresolute.  He chose the latter course, and, rushing
through the willows where the other had passed, he paused a moment on
the edge of the stream.  Just then his enemy emerged upon the opposite
bank, and, without a moment's halt, started off in full run across the
plain.  Again Carlos thought of following on horseback, but the banks
were high,--a horse might find it difficult to ford at such a place,--
perhaps impossible.  There was no time to be lost in experiments.

"Surely," thought Carlos, "I am swift as he.  For a trial then!"

And as he uttered the words he flung himself broad upon the water.

A few strokes carried him across the stream; and, climbing out on the
opposite bank, he sprang after his retreating foe.

The zambo had by this time got full two hundred yards in the advance,
but before he had run two hundred more, there was not half that distance
between them.  There was no comparison in their speed.  Carlos fairly
doubled upon his terrified antagonist, although the latter was doing his
utmost.  He knew that he was running for his life.

Not ten minutes did the chase continue.

Carlos drew near.  The zambo heard his footsteps close behind.  He felt
it was idle to run any longer.  He halted, and once more stood at bay.

In another instant the two were face to face, within ten feet of each
other!

Both were armed with large knives--their only weapons--and, dim as the
light was, the blades of these could be seen glittering in the air.

The foes scarce waited to breathe themselves.  A few angry exclamations
passed between them; and then, rushing upon each other, they clutched in
earnest conflict!

It was a short conflict.  A dozen seconds would have covered its whole
duration.  For a while, the bodies of the combatants seemed turned
around each other, and one of them fell heavily upon the plain.  A groan
was uttered.  It was in the voice of the zambo.  It was he who had
fallen!

The prostrate form wriggled for a moment over the ground--it half rose
and fell again--then writhed for a few seconds longer, and then lay
still in death!

The cibolero bent over it to be assured of this.  Death was written upon
the hideous face.  The marks were unmistakeable.  The victor no longer
doubted; and, turning away from the corpse, he walked back towards the
river.

Having regained his rifle and powder-horn, and reloaded his gun, Carlos
now proceeded to search for the horses.

These were soon found.  A bullet was sent through the head of the
bloodhound, and another through that of his more wolf-like companion,
and the horses were then untied and set free.

This done, Carlos once more returned to the glade, and, after lifting
Cibolo down from his perch, he approached the fire, and gazed for a
moment at the corpse of the yellow hunter.  The fires were blazing more
brightly than ever.  These were fed by human flesh!

Turning in disgust from the sight, the cibolero collected his garments,
and, once more mounting into the saddle, rode off in the direction of
the ravine.



CHAPTER SIXTY TWO.

Three days had elapsed from the time that the yellow hunter and his
companion had started on their expedition.  Those who sent them were
beginning to grow impatient for some news of them.  They did not allow
themselves to doubt of the zeal of their employes,--the reward would
secure that,--and scarce did they doubt of their success.  The latter
seemed to all three--Roblado, Vizcarra, and the Padre--but a consequence
of the former.  Still they were impatient for some report from the
hunters--if not of the actual capture, at least that the outlaw had been
seen, or that they were upon his trail.

On reflection, however, both Padre and officers saw that it would not be
likely they should have any report before the hunters themselves came
back, either with or without their captive.

"No doubt," suggested the monk, "they are after him every hour, and we
shall hear nothing of them until they have laid hands upon the heretic
rascal."

What a startling piece of news it was to this charming trio, when a
_hatero_ brought the information to the settlement that he had seen two
dead bodies upon the plain, which he recognised as those of the Mission
hunters--Manuel and Pepe.

His report was that he had seen them near a grove upon the Pecos,--that
they were torn by the wolves and vultures--but that what still remained
of their dress and equipments enabled him to make out who they were--for
the hatero had chanced to know these men personally.  He was sure they
were the mulatto and Zambo, the hunters of the mission.

At first this "mysterious murder," as it was termed, could not be
explained--except upon the supposition that the "Indios bravos" had done
it.  The people knew nothing of the duty upon which the hunters had been
lately employed.  Both were well enough known, though but little notice
was taken of their movements, which lay generally beyond the observation
of the citizen community.  It was supposed they had been out upon one of
their usual hunts, and had fallen in with a roving band of savages.

A party of dragoons, guided by the hatero, proceeded to the grove; and
these returned with a very different version of the story.

They had ascertained beyond a doubt that both the hunters had been
killed, not by Indian arrows, but by the weapons of a white man.
Furthermore, their horses had been left, while their dogs had been
killed--the skeletons of the latter were found lying upon the bank of
the river.

It could not have been Indians, then.  They would have carried off the
animals, both dogs and horses, and, moreover, would have stripped the
dead of their equipments, which were of some value.  Indians?  No.

There was not much difficulty in deciding who had committed this murder.
Where the skeletons of the dogs were found the ground was soft, and
there were hoof-tracks that did not belong to the horses of the hunters.
These were recognised by several.  They were the tracks of the
well-known horse of Carlos the cibolero.

Beyond a doubt Carlos had done the deed.  It was known that he and the
yellow hunter had not been on friendly terms, but the contrary.  They
had met and quarrelled, then; or, what was more likely, Carlos had found
the hunters asleep by their camp-fire, had stolen upon them, and thus
effected his purpose.  The mulatto had been shot dead at once, and had
fallen into the fire, for part of the body was consumed to a cinder!
His companion, attempting to make his escape, had been pursued and
overtaken by the bloodthirsty outlaw!

New execrations were heaped upon the head of the devoted Carlos.  Men
crossed themselves and uttered either a prayer or a curse at the mention
of his name; and mothers made use of it to fright their children into
good behaviour.  The name of Carlos the cibolero spread more terror than
the rumour of an Indian invasion!

The belief in the supernatural became strengthened.  Scarce any one now
doubted that the cibolero's mother was a witch, or that all these deeds
performed by her son were the result of her aid and inspiration.

There was not the slightest hope that he would either be captured or
killed.  How could he?  Who could bind the devil and bring him to
punishment?  No one any longer believed that he could be caught.

Some gravely proposed that his mother--the witch should be taken up and
burnt.  Until that was done, argued they, he would set all pursuit at
defiance; but if she were put out of the world, the murderer might then
be brought to justice!

It is probable enough that the counsels of these and they were the
majority of the inhabitants--would have prevailed; especially as they
were openly approved of by the padres of the mission; but before the
public mind became quite ripe for such a violent sacrifice, an event
occurred which completely changed the currant of affairs.

It was on the morning of a Sunday, and the people were just coming out
of the church, when a horseman, covered with sweat and dust, galloped
into the Plaza.  His habiliments were those of a sergeant of dragoons;
and all easily recognised the well-known lineaments of the sergeant
Gomez.

In a few minutes he was surrounded by a crowd of idlers, who, although
it was Sunday, were heard a few moments after breaking out into loud
acclamations of joy.  Hats were uptossed and _vivas_ rent the air!

What news had Gomez announced?  A rare bit of news--_the capture of the
outlaw_!  It was true.  Carlos had been taken, and was now a prisoner in
the hands of the soldiers.  He had been captured neither by strength nor
stratagem.  Treachery had done the work.  He had been betrayed by one of
his own people.

It was thus his capture had been effected.  Despairing for the present
of being able to communicate with Catalina, he had formed the resolution
to remove his mother and sister from the valley.  He had prepared a
temporary home for them far off in the wilderness, where they would be
secure from his enemies, while he himself could return at a better
opportunity.

To effect their removal, watched as they were, he knew would be no easy
matter.  But he had taken his measures, and would have succeeded had it
not been for treason.  One of his own people--a peon who had accompanied
him in his last expedition--betrayed him to his vigilant foes.

Carlos was within the rancho making a few hasty preparations for the
journey.  He had left his horse hidden some distance off in the
chapparal.  Unfortunately for him Cibolo was not there.  The faithful
dog had been laid up since his late encounter at the cave.  To a peon
had been assigned the duty that would otherwise have been intrusted to
him--that of keeping watch without.

This wretch had been previously bought by Roblado and Vizcarra.  The
result was, that, instead of acting as sentinel for his master, he
hastened to warn his enemies.  The rancho was surrounded by a troop;
and, although several of his assailants were killed by the hand of
Carlos, he himself was finally overpowered and taken.

Gomez had not been five minutes in the Plaza when a bugle was heard
sounding the advance of a troop, which the next moment defiled into the
open square.  Near its middle was the prisoner, securely tied upon the
back of a saddle-mule, and guarded by a double file of troopers.

An arrival of such interest was soon known, and the Plaza became filled
with a crowd eager to gratify its curiosity by a sight of the notorious
cibolero.

But he was not the only one upon whom the people gazed with curiosity.
There were two other prisoners--one of whom was regarded with an
interest equal to that felt at the sight of the outlaw himself.  This
prisoner was his mother.  Upon her the eyes of the multitude turned with
an expression of awe mingled with indignation; while jeering and angry
cries hailed her as she passed on her way to the _Calabozo_.

"_Muera la hechicera! muera_!"  (Death to the witch--let her die!) broke
from ruffian lips as she was carried along.

Even the dishevelled hair and weeping eyes of her young companion--her
daughter--failed to touch the hearts of that fanatical mob, and there
were some who cried, "_Mueran las dos! madre y hija_!"  (Let both die--
mother and daughter!)

The guards had even to protect them from rude assault, as they were
thrust hastily within the door of the prison!

Fortunately Carlos saw nought of this.  _He was not even aware that they
were prisoners_!  He thought, perhaps, they had been left unmolested in
the rancho, and that the vengeance of his enemies extended no farther
than to himself.  He knew not the fiendish designs of his persecutors.



CHAPTER SIXTY THREE.

The female prisoners remained in the Calabozo.  Carlos, for better
security, was carried on to the Presidio, and placed in the prison of
the guard-house.

That night he received a visit.  The Comandante and Roblado could not
restrain their dastard spirits from indulging in the luxury of revenge.
Having emptied their wine-cups, they, with a party of boon companions,
entered the guard prison, and amused themselves by taunting the chained
captive.  Every insult was put upon him by his half-drunken visitors--
every rudeness their ingenuity could devise.

For long all this was submitted to in silence.  A coarse jest from
Vizcarra at length provoked reply.  The reply alluded to the changed
features of the latter, which so exasperated the brute, that he dashed,
dagger in hand, upon the bound victim, and would have taken his life,
but that Roblado and others held him back!  He was only prevented from
killing Carlos by his companions declaring that such a proceeding would
rob them of their anticipated sport!  This consideration alone
restrained him; but he was not contented until with his fists he had
inflicted several blows upon the face of the defenceless captive!

"Let the wretch live!" said Roblado.  "To-morrow we shall have a fine
spectacle for him!"

With this the inebriated gang staggered out, leaving the prisoner to
reflect upon this promised "spectacle."

He did reflect upon it.  That he was to be made a spectacle he
understood well enough.  He had no hopes of mercy, either from civil or
military judges.  His death was to be the spectacle.  All night long his
soul was tortured with painful thoughts, not of himself, but about those
far dearer to him than his own life.

Morning glanced through the narrow loophole of his gloomy cell.  Nothing
else--nought to eat, to drink--no word of consolation--no kind look from
his ruffian gaolers.  No friend to make inquiry about him--no sign that
a single heart on earth cared for him.

Midday arrived.  He was taken, or rather dragged, from his prison.
Troops formed around, and carried him off.  Where was he going?  To
execution?

His eyes were free.  He saw himself taken to the town, and through the
Plaza.  There was an unusual concourse of people.  The square was nearly
filled, and the azoteas that commanded a view of it.  All the
inhabitants of the settlement seemed to be present in the town.  There
were haciendados, rancheros, miners, and all.  Why?  Some grand event
must have brought them together.  They had the air of people who
expected to witness an unusual scene.  Perhaps the "spectacle" promised
by Roblado!  But what could that be?  Did they intend to torture him in
presence of the multitude?  Such was not improbable.

The crowd jeered him as he passed.  He was carried through their midst,
and thrust into the Calabozo.

A rude _banqueta_ along one side of his cell offered a resting-place.
On this the wretched man sank down into a lying posture.  The fastenings
on his arms and legs would not allow him to sit upright.

He was left alone.  The soldiers who had conducted him went out, turning
the key behind them.  Their voices and the clink of their scabbards told
him that some of them still remained by the door.  Two of them had been
left there as sentinels.  The others sauntered off, and mingled with the
crowd of civilians that filled the Plaza.

Carlos lay for some minutes without motion--almost without thought.  His
soul was overwhelmed with misery.  For the first time in his life he
felt himself yielding to despair.

The feeling was evanescent; and once more he began to reflect--not to
hope--no!  Hope, they say dies but with life: but that is a paradox.  He
still lived, but hope had died.  Hope of escape there was none.  He was
too well guarded.  His exasperated enemies, having experienced the
difficulty of his capture, were not likely to leave him the slightest
chance of escape.  Hope of pardon--of mercy--it never entered his
thoughts to entertain either.

But reflection returned.

It is natural for a captive to glance around the walls of his prison--to
assure himself that he is really a prisoner.  It is his first act when
the bolt shoots from the lock, and he feels himself alone.  Obedient to
this impulse, the eye of Carlos was raised to the walls, his cell was
not a dungeon--a small window, or embrasure, admitted light.  It was
high up, but Carlos saw that, by standing upon the banqueta, he could
have looked out by it.  He had no curiosity to do so, and he lay still.
He saw that the walls of his prison were not of stone.  They were
_adobe_ bricks, and the embrasure enabled him to tell their thickness.
There was no great strength in them either.  A determined man, with an
edge-tool and time to spare, could make his way through them easily
enough.  So Carlos reflected: but he reflected, as well, that he had
neither the edge-tool nor the time.  He was certain that in a few
hours--perhaps minutes--he would be led from that prison to the
scaffold.

Oh! he feared not death--not even torture, which he anticipated would be
his lot.  His torture was the thought of eternal separation from mother,
sister, from the proud noble girl he loved--the thought that he would
never again behold them--one or other of them--this was the torture that
maddened his soul.

Could he not communicate with them?  Had he no friend to carry to them a
last word?--to convey a dying thought?  None.

The sunbeam that slanted across the cell was cut off at intervals, and
the room darkened.  Something half covered the embrasure without.  It
was the face of some idle lepero, who, curious to catch a glimpse of the
captive, had caused himself to be hoisted upon the shoulders of his
fellows.  The embrasure was above the heads of the crowd.  Carlos could
hear their brutal jests, directed not only against himself, but against
those dear to him--his mother and sister.  While this pained him, he
began to wonder that they should be so much the subject of the
conversation.  He could not tell what was said of them, but in the hum
of voices their names repeatedly reached his ear.  He had lain about an
hour on the banqueta, when the door opened, and the two officers,
Vizcarra and Roblado, stepped within the cell.  They were accompanied by
Gomez.

The prisoner believed that his hour was come.  They were going to lead
him forth to execution.  He was wrong.  That was not their design.  Far
different.  They had come to gloat over his misery.  Their visit was to
be a short one.  "Now, my brave!" began Roblado.  "We promised you a
spectacle to-day.  We are men of our word.  We come to admonish you that
it is prepared, and about to come off.  Mount upon that banqueta, and
look out into the Plaza; you will have an excellent view of it; and as
it is near you will need no glass!  Up then! and don't lose time.  You
will see what you will see.  Ha! ha! ha!"

And the speaker broke into a hoarse laugh, in which the Comandante as
well as the sergeant joined; and then all three, without waiting for a
reply, turned and went out, ordering the door to be locked behind them.

The visit, as well as Roblado's speech, astonished and puzzled Carlos.
For some minutes he sat reflecting upon it.  What could it mean?  A
_spectacle_, and he to be a _spectator_?  What spectacle but that of his
own execution?  What could it mean?

For a time he sat endeavouring to make out the sense of Roblado's words.
For a good while he pondered over the speech, until at length he had
found, or thought he had found, the key to its meaning.

"Ha!" muttered he; "Don Juan--it is he!  My poor friend!  They have
condemned him, too; and he is to die before me.  That is what I am
called upon to witness.  Fiends!  I shall not gratify them by looking at
it.  No!  I shall remain where I am."

He threw himself once more prostrate along the banqueta, determined to
remain in that position.  He muttered at intervals:--

"Poor Don Juan!--a true friend--to death--ay, even to death, for it is
for me he dies--for me, and--oh! love--love--"

His reflections were brought to a sudden termination.  The window was
darkened by a face, and a rough voice called in:--

"Hola!  Carlos, you butcher of buffaloes! look forth!  _Carajo_! here's
a sight for you!  Look at your old witch of a mother!  What a figure she
cuts!  Ha! ha!"

The sting of a poisonous reptile--a blow from an enemy--could not have
roused Carlos more rapidly from his prostrate attitude.  As he sprang to
an upright position, the fastenings upon his ankles were forgotten; and,
after staggering half across the floor, he came down upon his knees.

A second effort was made with more caution, and this time he succeeded
in keeping his feet.  A few moments sufficed for him to work himself up
to the banqueta; and, having mounted this, he applied his face to the
embrasure and looked forth.

His eyes rested upon a scene that caused the blood to curdle in his
veins, and started the sweat in bead-drops over his forehead.  A scene
that filled his heart with horror, that caused him to feel as if some
hand was clutching and compressing it between fingers of iron!



CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR.

The Plaza was partially cleared--the open space guarded by lines of
soldiers.  The crowds, closely packed, stood along the sides of the
houses, or filled the balconies and azoteas.  The officers, alcalde,
magistrates, and principal men of the town, were grouped near the centre
of the Plaza.  Most of these wore official costumes, and, under other
circumstances, the eyes of the crowd would have been upon _them_.  Not
so now.  There was a group more attractive than they--a group upon which
every eye was gazing with intense interest.

This group occupied a corner of the Plaza in front of the Calabozo,
directly in front of the window from which Carlos looked out.  It was
the first thing upon which his eyes rested.  He saw no more--he saw not
the crowd, nor the line of soldiers that penned it back--he saw not the
gaudy gentry in the square; he saw only that group of beings before him.
That was enough to keep his eyes from wandering.

The group was thus composed.  There were two asses--small shaggy brown
animals,--caparisoned in a covering of coarse black serge, that hung
nearly to their feet.  Each had a coarse hair halter held in the hand of
a lepero driver, also fantastically dressed in the same black stuff.
Behind each stood a lepero similarly attired, and carrying "cuartos" of
buffalo-skin.  By the side of each ass was one of the padres of the
mission, and each of these held in his hand the implements of his
trade--book, rosary, and crucifix.  The priests wore an official look.
They were in the act of officiating.  At what?  Listen!

The asses were mounted.  On the back of each was a form--a human form.
These sat not freely, but in constrained attitudes.  The feet were drawn
underneath by cords passed around the ankles; and to a sort of wooden
yoke around the necks of the animals the hands of the riders were tied--
so as to bring their backs into a slanting position.  In this way their
heads hung down, and their faces, turned to the wall, could not yet be
seen by the crowd.

Both were nude to the waist, and below it.  The eye needed but one
glance at those forms to tell they were women!  The long loose hair--in
the one grey, in the other golden--shrouding their cheeks, and hanging
over the necks of the animals, was further proof of this.  For one it
was not needed.  The outlines were those of a Venus.  A sculptor's eye
could not have detected a fault.  In the form of the other, age had
traced its marks.  It was furrowed, angled, lean, and harsh to the eye
of the observer.

Oh, God! what a sight for the eye of Carlos the cibolero!  Those
involuntary riders _were his mother and sister_!

And just at that moment his eye rested upon them--ay, and recognised
them at a glance.  An arrow passing through his heart could not have
inflicted keener pain.  A sharp, half-stifled scream escaped his lips--
the only sign of suffering the ear might detect.  He was silent from
that moment.  His hard quick breathing alone told that he lived.  He did
not faint or fall.  He did not retreat from the window.  He stood like a
statue in the position he had first taken, hugging the wall with his
breast, to steady himself.  His eyes remained fixed on the group, and
fixed too in their sockets, as if glued there!

Roblado and Vizcarra, in the centre of the square, enjoyed their
triumph.  They saw him at the embrasure.  He saw not them.  He had for
the moment forgotten that they existed.

At a signal the bell rang in the tower of the parroquia, and then
ceased.  This was the cue for commencing the horrid ceremony.

The black drivers led their animals from the wall, and, heading them in
a direction parallel to one side of the Plaza, stood still.  The faces
of the women were now turned partially to the crowd, but their
dishevelled hair sufficiently concealed them.  The padres approached.
Each selected one.  They mumbled a few unintelligible phrases in the
ears of their victims, flourished the crucifix before their faces, and
then, retiring a step, muttered some directions to the two ruffians in
the rear.

These with ready alacrity took up their cue, gathered the thick ends of
their cuartos around their wrists, and plied the lash upon the naked
hacks of the women.  The strokes were deliberate and measured--they were
counted!  Each seemed to leave its separate weal upon the skin.  Upon
the younger female they were more conspicuous--not that they had been
delivered with greater severity, but upon the softer, whiter, and more
tender skin, the purple lines appeared plainer by contrast.

Strange that neither cried out.  The girl writhed, and uttered a low
whimpering, but no scream escaped her lips.  As for the old woman, she
remained quite motionless--no sign told that she suffered!

When ten lashes each had been administered, a voice from the centre of
the Plaza cried out--

"_Basta por la nina_!"  (Enough for the girl.)

The crowd echoed this; and he, whose office it was to flog the younger
female, rolled up his cuarto and desisted.  The other went on until
twenty-five lashes were told off.

A band of music now struck up.  The asses were d along the side of the
square, and halted at the next corner.

The music stopped.  The padres again went through their mumbling
ceremony.  The executioners performed their part--only one of them this
time--as by the voice of the crowd the younger female was spared the
lash, though she was still kept in her degraded and shameful position.

The full measure of twenty-five stripes was administered to the other,
and then again the music, and the procession moved on to the third angle
of the Plaza.  Here the horrid torture was repeated, and again at the
fourth and last corner of the square, where the hundred lashes--the full
number decreed as the punishment--were completed.

The ceremony was over.  The crowd gathered around the victims--who, now
released from official keeping, were left to themselves.

The feeling of the crowd was curiosity, not sympathy.  Notwithstanding
all that had passed before their eyes, there was but little sympathy in
the hearts of that rabble.

Fanaticism is stronger than pity; and who cared for the witch and the
heretic?

Yes--there were some who cared yet.  There were hands that unbound the
cords, and chafed the brows of the sufferers, and flung rebosos over
their shoulders and poured water into the lips of those silent victims--
silent, for both had fainted!

A rude carreta was there.  How it came there no one knew or cared.  It
was getting dusk, and people, having satisfied their curiosity, and
hungry from long fasting, were falling off to their homes.  The brawny
driver of the carreta, directed by a young girl, and aided by two or
three dusky Indians, lifted the sufferers into his vehicle, and then,
mounting himself, drove off; while the young girl, and two or three who
had assisted him, followed the vehicle.

It cleared the suburbs, and, striking into a byroad that traversed the
chapparal, arrived at a lone rancho, the same where Rosita had been
taken before--for it was Josefa who again carried her away.

The sufferers were taken inside the house.  It was soon perceived that
one no longer suffered.  The daughter was restored to consciousness,
only to see that that of her mother had for ever fled!

Her temples were chafed--her lips moistened--her hand pressed in vain.
The wild utterance of a daughter's grief fell unheard upon her ears.
Death had carried her spirit to another world.



CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE.

From the embrasure of his prison Carlos looked upon the terrible
spectacle.  We have said that he regarded it in silence.  Not exactly
so.  Now and then, as the blood-stained lash fell heavier than usual, a
low groan escaped him--the involuntary utterance of agony extreme.

His looks more than his voice betrayed the fearful fire that was burning
within.  Those who by chance or curiosity glanced into the embrasure
were appalled by the expression of that face.  Its muscles were rigid
and swollen, the eyes were fixed and ringed with purple, the teeth
firmly set, the lips drawn tight over them, and large sweat-drops
glistened upon the forehead.  No red showed upon the cheeks, nor any
part of the face--not a trace to tell that blood circulated there.  Pale
as death was that face, and motionless as marble.

From his position Carlos could see but two angles of the Plaza--that
where the cruel scene had its commencement, and that where the second
portion was administered.  The procession then passed out of sight; but
though his eyes were no longer tortured by the horrid spectacle, there
was but little relief in that.  He knew it continued all the same.

He remained no longer by the window.  A resolve carried him from it,--
the resolve of self-destruction!

His agony was complete.  He could endure it no longer.  Death would
relieve him, and upon death he was determined.

But how to die?

He had no weapon; and even if he had, pinioned as he was, he could not
have used it.

But one mode seemed possible--to dash his head against the wall!

A glance at the soft mason-work of _adobes_ convinced him that this
would not effect his purpose.  By such an effort he might stun, but not
kill himself.  He would wake again to horrid life.

His eyes swept the cell in search of some mode of self-destruction.

A beam traversed the apartment.  It was high enough to hang the tallest
man.  With his hands free, and a cord in them, it would do.  There was
cord enough on them for the purpose, for they were bound by several
varas of a raw-hide thong.

To the fastenings his attention was now directed; when, to his surprise
and delight, he perceived that the thong had become slack and loose!
The hot sweat, pouring from his hands and wrists, had saturated the
raw-hide, causing it to melt and yield; and his desperate exertions,
made mechanically under the influence of agony and half-madness, had
stretched it for inches!  A slight examination of the fastenings
convinced him of the possibility of his undoing them; and to this he
applied himself with all the strength find energy of a desperate man.
Had his hands been tied in front, he might have used his teeth in the
endeavour to set them free; but they were bound fast together across his
back.  He pulled and wrenched them with all his strength.

If there is a people in the world who understand better than any other
the use of ropes or thongs, that people is the Spanish-American.  The
Indian must yield to them in this knowledge, and even the habile sailor
makes but a clumsy knot in comparison.  No people so well understand how
to bind a captive _without iron_, and the captive outlaw had been tied
to perfection.

But neither ropes of hemp nor hide will secure a man of superior
strength and resolution.  Give such an one but time to operate, and he
will be certain to free himself.  Carlos knew that he needed but time.

The effect produced by the moistening of the raw-hide was such, that
short time sufficed.  In less than ten minutes it slipped from his
wrists, and his hands were free!

He drew the thong through his fingers to clear it of loops and snarls.
He fashioned one end into a noose; and, mounting upon the banqueta,
knotted the other over the beam.  He then placed the noose around his
naked threat--calculating the height at which it should hang when drawn
taut by the weight of his body! and, placing himself on the elevated
edge of the banqueta, he was prepared to spring out--

"Let me look on them once more before I die--poor victims!--once more!"

The position he occupied was nearly in front of the embrasure, and he
had only to lean a little to one side to get a view of the Plaza.  He
did so.

He could not see them; but he saw that the attention of the crowd was
directed towards that angle of the square adjacent to the Calabozo.  The
horrid ceremony would soon be over.  Perhaps they would then be carried
within sight.  He would wait for the moment, it would be his last--

"Ha! what is that?  Oh God: it is--"

He heard the "weep" of the keen cuarto as it cut the air.  He thought,
or fancied, he heard a low moan.  The silence of the crowd enabled him
to distinguish the slightest sounds.

"God of mercy, is there no mercy?  God of vengeance, hear me!  Ha!
vengeance! what am I dreaming of, suicidal fool?  What! my hands free--
can I not break the door? the lock?  I can but die upon their weapons!
and maybe--"

He had flung the noose from his neck, and was about to turn away from
the window, when a heavy object struck him on the forehead, almost
stunning him with the blow!

At first he thought it was a stone from the hand of some ruffian
without; but the object, in falling upon the banqueta, gave out a dull
metallic clink.  He looked down, and in the dim light could make out
that the thing which had struck him was of an oblong shape.  He bent
hastily forward, and clutched it.

It was a parcel, wrapped in a piece of silken scarf and tied securely.
The string was soon unfastened, and the contents of the parcel held up
to the light.  These were a roleau of gold onzas, a long-bladed knife,
and a folded sheet of paper!

The last occupied his attention first.  The sun was down, and the light
declining, but in front of the window there was still enough to enable
him to read he opened the paper and read:--

"_Your time is fixed for to-morrow.  I cannot learn whether you will be
kept where you are all night, or be taken back to the Presidio.  If you
remain in the Calabozo, well.  I send you two weapons.  Use which you
please, or both.  The walls can be pierced.  There will be one outside
who will conduct you safe.  Should you be taken to the Presidio, you
must endeavour to escape on the way, or there is no hope.  I need not
recommend courage and resolution to you--the personification of both.
Make for the rancho of Josefa.  There you will find one who is now ready
to share your perils and your liberty.  Adieu! my soul's hero, adieu_!"

No name appeared.  But Carlos needed none--he well knew who was the
writer of that note.

"Brave, noble girl!" he muttered as he concealed the paper under the
breast of his hunting-shirt; "the thought of living for you fills me
with fresh hope--gives me new nerve for the struggle.  If I die, it will
not be by the hands of the _garrotero_.  No, my hands are free.  They
shall not be bound again while life remains.  I shall yield only to
death itself."

As the captive muttered these thoughts he sat down upon the banqueta,
and hurriedly untied the thongs that up to this time had remained upon
his ankles.  This done, he rose to his feet again; and, with the long
knife firmly clutched, strode up and down the cell, glancing fiercely
towards the door at each turning.  He had resolved to run the gauntlet
of his guards, and by his manner it was evident he had made up his mind
to attack the first of them that entered.

For several minutes he paced his cell, like a tiger within its cage.

At length a thought seemed to suggest itself that caused a change in his
manner, sudden and decided.  He gathered up the thongs just cast off;
and seating himself upon the banqueta, once more wound them around his
ankles--but this time in such a fashion, that a single jerk upon a
cunningly-contrived knot would set all free.  The knife was hidden under
his hunting-shirt, where the purse had been already deposited.  Last of
all, he unloosed the raw-hide rope from the beam, and, meeting his hands
behind him, whipped it around both wrists, until they had the appearance
of being securely spliced.  He then assumed a reclining attitude along
the banqueta, with his face turned towards the door, and remained
motionless as though he were asleep!



CHAPTER SIXTY SIX.

In our land of cold impulses--of love calculating and interested--we
cannot understand, and scarcely credit, the deeds of reckless daring
that in other climes have their origin in that strong passion.

Among Spanish women love often attains a strength and sublimity utterly
unfelt and unknown to nations who mix it up with their merchandise.
With those highly-developed dames it often becomes a true passion--
unselfish, headlong, intense--usurping the place of every other, and
filling the measure of the soul.  Filial affection--domestic ties--moral
and social duty--must yield.  Love triumphs over all.

Of such a nature--of such intensity--was the love that burned in the
heart of Catalina de Cruces.

Filial affection had been weighed against it; rank, fortune, and many
other considerations, had been thrown into the scale.  Love out-balanced
them all; and, obedient to its impulse, she had resolved to fling all
the rest behind her.

It was nearing the hour of midnight, and the mansion of Don Ambrosio was
dark and silent.  Its master was not at home.  A grand banquet had been
provided at the Presidio by Vizcarra and Roblado, to which all the
grandees of the settlement had been invited.  Don Ambrosio was among the
number.  At this hour he was at the Presidio, feasting and making merry.

It was not a ladies' festival, therefore Catalina was not there.  It
was, indeed, rather an extemporised affair--a sort of jubilee to wind up
the performances of the day.  The officers and priests were in high
spirits, and had put their heads together in getting up the improvised
banquet.

The town had become silent, and the mansion of Don Ambrosio showed not a
sign of life.  The portero still lingered by the great gate, waiting his
master's return; but he sat inside upon the banqueta of the zaguan, and
seemed to be asleep.

He was watched by those who wished him to sleep on.

The large door of the _caballeriza_ was open.  Within the framework of
the posts and lintels the form of a man could be distinguished.  It was
the groom Andres.

There was no light in the stable.  Had there been so, four horses might
have been seen standing in their stalls, saddled and bridled.  A still
stranger circumstance might have been observed--around the hoofs of each
horse were wrapped pieces of coarse woollen cloth, that were drawn up
and fastened around the ankles!  There was some design in this.

The door of the caballeriza was not visible from the zaguan; but at
intervals the figure within the stable came forth, and, skulking along,
peeped around the angle of the wall.  The portero was evidently the
object of his scrutiny.  Having listened a while, the figure again
returned to its place in the dark doorway, and stood as before.

Up to a certain time a tiny ray of light could be detected stealing
through the curtains of a chamber-door--the chamber of the senorita.
All at once the light silently disappeared; but a few moments after, the
door opened noiselessly.  A female figure glided softly forth, and
turned along under the shadow of the wall, in the direction of the
caballeriza.  On reaching the open doorway she stopped, and called in a
low voice--

"Andres!"

"_Aqui, Senorita_!" answered the groom, stepping a little more into the
light.

"All saddled?"

"Si, Senorita."

"You have muffled their hoofs?"

"Every one, Senorita."

"Oh! what shall we do with him," continued the lady in a tone of
distress, and pointing toward the zaguan.  "We shall not be able to pass
out before papa returns, and then it may be too late.  _Santisima_!"

"Senorita, why not serve the portero as I have done the girl?  I'm
strong enough for that."

"Oh, Vicenza! how have you secured her?"

"In the garden-house,--tied, gagged, and locked up.  I warrant she'll
not turn up till somebody finds her.  No fear of her, Senorita.  I'll do
the same for the portero, if you but say the word."

"No--no--no! who would open the gate for papa?  No--no--no! it would not
do."  She reflected.  "And yet, if he gets out before the horses are
ready, they will soon miss--pursue--overtake him.  He _will_ get out, I
am sure of it.  How long would it occupy him? not long.  He will easily
undo his cord fastenings.  I know that--he once said he could.  Oh, holy
Virgin! he may now be free, and waiting for me!  I must haste--the
portero--Ha!"

As she uttered this exclamation she turned suddenly to Andres.  A new
plan seemed to have suggested itself.

"Andres! good Andres! listen!  We shall manage it yet!"

"Si, Senorita."

"Thus, then.  Lead the horses out the back way, through the garden--can
you swim them across the stream?"

"Nothing easier, my lady."

"Good!  Through the garden take them then.  Stay!"

At this she cast her eyes toward the entrance of the long alley leading
to the garden, which was directly opposite to, and visible from, the
zaguan.  Unless the portero were asleep, he could not fail to see four
horses passing out in that way--dark as was the night.  Here, then, a
new difficulty presented itself.

Suddenly starting, she seemed to have thought of a way to overcome it.

"Andres, it will do.  You go to the zaguan.  See whether he be asleep.
Go up boldly.  If asleep, well; if not enter into conversation with him.
Get him to open the little door and let you out.  Wile him upon the
street, and by some means keep him there.  I shall lead out the horses."

This was plausible, and the groom prepared himself for a strategic
encounter with the portero.

"When sufficient time has elapsed, steal after me to the garden.  See
that you manage well, Andres.  I shall double your reward.  You go with
me--you have nothing to fear."

"Senorita, I am ready to lay down my life for you."

Gold is powerful.  Gold had won the stout Andres to a fealty stronger
than friendship.  For gold he was ready to strangle the portero on the
spot.

The latter was not asleep--only dozing, as a Spanish portero knows how.
Andres put the stratagem in practice, he offered a cigar; and in a few
minutes' time his unsuspicious fellow-servant stepped with him through
the gate, and both stood smoking outside.

Catalina judged their situation by the hum of their voices.  She entered
the dark stable; and gliding to the head of one of the horses, caught
the bridle, and led the animal forth.  A few moments sufficed to conduct
it to the garden, where she knotted the rein to a tree.

She then returned for the second, and the third, and the fourth and
last--all of which she secured as she had done the first.

Once more she went back to the patio.  This time only to shut the
stable-door, and lock that of her own chamber; and, having secured both,
she cast a look towards the zaguan, and then glided back into the
garden.  Here she mounted her own horse, took the bridle of another in
her hand, and sat waiting.

She had not long to wait.  Andres had well calculated his time, for in a
few minutes he appeared in the entrance; and, having closed the gate
behind him, joined his mistress.

The _ruse_ had succeeded admirably.  The portero suspected nothing.
Andres had bidden him "buenas noches," at the same time expressing his
intention of going to bed.

Don Ambrosio might now return when he pleased.  He would retire to his
sleeping-room as was his wont.  He would not know before morning the
loss he had sustained.

The mufflings were now removed from the feet of the horses, and,
plunging as silently as possible into the water, the four were guided
across the stream.  Having ascended the opposite bank, they were first
headed towards the cliffs, but before they had proceeded far in that
direction they turned into a path of the chapparal leading downward.
This path would conduct them to the rancho of Josefa.



CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN.

From the position he occupied, Carlos did not fail to observe the
outlines of his prison, and search for that point that might be pierced
with least trouble.  He saw that the walls were of adobe bricks--strong,
enough to shut in an ordinary malefactor, but easily cut through by a
man armed with the proper tool, and the determination to set himself
free.  Two hours' work would suffice, but how to work that two hours
without being interrupted and detected?  That, was the question that
occupied the mind of the captive.

One thing was very evident; it would be unwise to commence operations
before a late hour--until the relief of the guard.

Carlos had well calculated his measures.  He had determined to remain as
he was, and keep up the counterfeit of his being fast bound until such
time as the guard should be changed.  He knew that it was the duty of
the old guard to deliver him to the relief; and these would assure
themselves of his being in the cell by ocular inspection.  He guessed
that the hour of guard-mounting must be near.  He would, therefore, not
have long to wait before the new sentries should present themselves in
his cell.

One thought troubled him.  Would they keep him in the Calabozo that
night, or take him back to the Presidio for better security?  If the
latter, his only chance would be--as she had suggested--to make a
desperate effort, and escape on the route.  Once lodged in the
guard-house prison, he would be surrounded by walls of stone.  There
would be no hope of cutting his way through them.

It was probable enough he should be taken there; and yet why should they
fear his escape from the Calabozo--fast bound as they believed him--
unarmed, guarded by vigilant sentinels?  No.  They would not dream of
his getting off.  Besides, it would be more convenient to keep him all
night in the latter prison.  It was close to the place of his intended
execution, which no doubt was to take place on the morrow.  The garrote
had been already erected in front of his gaol!

Partly influenced by such considerations, and partly that they were
occupied with pleasanter matters, the authorities had resolved on
leaving him where he was for the night, though Carlos was ignorant of
this.

He had, however, prepared himself for either contingency.  Should they
convey him back to the Presidio, he would seek the best opportunity that
offered, and risk his life in a bold effort to escape.  Should he be
permitted to remain in the Calabozo, he would wait till the guard had
visited him--then set to work upon the wall after they had gone out.  In
the event of being detected while at work, but one course remained,--run
the gauntlet of the guard, and cut his way through their midst.

His escape was not an affair of such improbability.  A determined man
with a long knife in his grasp--one who will yield only to death--is a
difficult thing to secure under any circumstances.  Such an one will
often effect his freedom, even when hemmed in by a host of enemies.
With Carlos, however, the probabilities of escape were much greater.  He
was individually strong and brave, while most of his enemies were
physically but pigmies in comparison.  As to their courage, he knew that
once they saw him with his hands free and armed, they would make way for
him on all sides.  What he had most to fear was the bullets of their
carbines; but he had much to hope from their want of skill, and the
darkness would favour him.

For more than an hour he lay along the banqueta, turning over in his
mind the chances of regaining his liberty.  His reflections were
interrupted by an unusual stir outside his prison.  A fresh batch of
soldiers had arrived at the door.

Carlos' heart beat anxiously.  Was it a party come to conduct him to the
Presidio?  It might be so.  He waited with painful impatience listening
to every word.

To his great joy it proved to be the arrival of the relief-guard; and he
had the satisfaction of hearing, by their conversation, that they had
been detailed to guard him all night in the Calabozo.  This was just the
very thing he desired to know.

Presently the door was unlocked and opened, and several of the men
entered.  One bore a lantern.  With this they examined him--uttering
coarse and insulting remarks as they stood around.  They saw that he was
securely bound!  After a while all went out and left him to himself.
The door was of course re-locked, and the cell was again in perfect
darkness.

Carlos lay still for a few minutes, to assure himself they were not
going to return.  He heard them place the sentries by the door, and then
the voices of the greater number seemed borne off to some distance.

Now was the time to begin his work.  He hastily cast the cords from his
hands and feet, drew the long knife from his breast, and attacked the
adobe wall.

The spot he has chosen was at the corner farthest from the door, and at
the back side of the cell.  He knew not what was the nature of the
ground on the other side, but it seemed most likely that which would lie
towards the open country.  The Calabozo was no fortress-prison--a mere
temporary affair, used by the municipal authorities for malefactors of
the smaller kind.  So much the better for his chances of breaking it.
The wall yielded easily to his knife.  The adobe is but dry mud,
toughened by an admixture of grass, and although the bricks were laid to
the thickness of twenty inches or more, in the space of an hour Carlos
succeeded in cutting a hole large enough to pass through.  He could have
accomplished this feat, in still shorter time, but he was compelled to
work with caution, and as silently as possible.  Twice he fancied that
his guards were about to enter the cell, and both times he had sprung to
his feet, and stood, knife in hand, ready to assail them.  Fortunately
his fancies were without foundation.  No one entered until the hole was
made, and the captive had the satisfaction to feel the cold air rushing
through the aperture!

He stopped his work and listened.  There was no sound on that side of
the prison.  All was silence and darkness.  He pressed his head forward,
and peered through.  The night was dark, but he could see weeds and wild
cactus-plants growing close to the wall.  Good!  There were no signs of
life there.

He widened the aperture to the size of his body, and crawled through,
knife in hand.  He raised himself gradually and silently.  Nothing but
tall rank weeds, cactus-plants, and aloes.  He was behind the range of
the dwellings.  He was in the common.  He was free!

He started towards the open country, skulking under the shadow of the
brushwood.  A form rose before him, as if out of the earth, and a voice
softly pronounced his name.  He recognised the girl Josefa.  A word or
two was exchanged, when the girl beckoned him to follow, and silently
led the way.

They entered the chapparal, and, following a narrow path, succeeded in
getting round the village.  On the other side lay the ranche, and in
half-an-hour's time they arrived at and entered the humble dwelling.

In the next moment Carlos was bending over the corpse of his mother!

There was no shock in this encounter.  He had been half prepared for
such an event.  Besides, his nerves had been already strained to their
utmost by the spectacle of the morning.  Sorrow may sometimes eclipse
sorrow, and drive it from the heart; but that agony which he had already
endured could not be supplanted by a greater.  The nerve of grief had
been touched with such severity that it could vibrate no longer!

Beside him was one who offered consolation--she, his noble preserver.

But it was no hour for idle grief.  Carlos kissed the cold lips--hastily
embraced his weeping sister--his love.

"The horses?" he inquired.

"They are close at hand--among the trees."

"Come, then! we must not lose a moment--we must go hence.--Come!"

As he uttered these words, he wrapped the serape around the corpse,
lifted it in his arms, and passed out of the rancho.

The others had already preceded him to the spot where the horses were
concealed.

Carlos saw that there were five of these animals.  A gleam of joy shot
from his eyes as he recognised his noble steed.  Antonio had recovered
him.  Antonio was there, on the spot.

All were soon in the saddles.  Two of the horses carried Rosita and
Catalina; the other two were ridden by Antonio and the groom Andres.
The cibolero himself, carrying his strange burden, once more sprang upon
the back of his faithful steed.

"Down the valley, master?" inquired Antonio.

Carlos hesitated a moment as if deliberating.

"No," replied he at length.  "They would follow us that way.  By the
pass of La Nina.  They will not suspect us of taking the cliff road.
Lead on, Antonio:--the chapparal path--you know it best.  On!"

The cavalcade started, and in a few minutes had passed the borders of
the town, and was winding its way through the devious path that led to
the pass of La Nina.  No words were exchanged, or only a whisper, as the
horses in single file followed one another through the chapparal.

An hour's silent travel brought them to the pass, up which they filed
without halting till they had reached the top of the ravine.  Here
Carlos rode to the front, and, directing Antonio to guide the others
straight across the table-land, remained himself behind.

As soon as the rest were gone past, he wheeled his horse, and rode
direct for the cliff of La Nina.  Having reached the extremity of the
bluff, he halted at a point that commanded a full view of San Ildefonso.
In the sombre darkness of night the valley seemed but the vast crater
of an extinct volcano; and the lights, glittering in the town and the
Presidio, resembled the last sparks of flaming lava that had not yet
died out!

The horse stood still.  The rider raised the corpse upon his arm; and,
baring the pale face, turned it in the direction of the lights.

"Mother! mother!" he broke forth, in a voice hoarse with grief.  "Oh!
that those eyes could see--that those ears could hear!--if but for a
moment--one short moment--that you might bear witness to my vow!  Here
do I swear that you shall be revenged!  From this hour I yield up my
strength, my time, my soul and body, to the accomplishment of vengeance.
Vengeance! why do I use the word?  It is not vengeance, but justice--
justice upon the perpetrators of the foulest murder the world has ever
recorded.  But it shall not go unpunished.  Spirit of my mother, hear
me!  _It shall not_.  Your death shall be avenged--your torture shall
have full retribution.  Rejoice, you ruffian crew! feast, and be merry,
for your time of sorrow will soon come--sooner than you think for!  I
go, but to return.  Have patience--you shall see me again.  Yes! once
more you shall stand face to face with Carlos the cibolero!"

He raised his right arm, and held it outstretched in a menacing
attitude, while a gleam of vengeful triumph passed over his countenance.
His horse, as if actuated by a similar impulse, neighed wildly; and
then wheeling round at a signal from his rider, galloped away from the
cliff!



CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT.

After having witnessed the disgusting ceremony in the Plaza, the
officers returned to their quarters at the Presidio.

As already stated, they did not return alone.  The principal men of the
place had been invited to dine with them--cura, padres, alcalde, and
all.  The capture of the outlaw was a theme of public gratulation and
rejoicing; and the Comandante and his captain--to whom was due the
credit--were determined to rejoice.  To that end the banquet was spread
in the Presidio.

It was not thought worth while to remove Carlos to the soldiers' prison.
He could remain all night in the Calabozo.  Fast bound and well guarded
as he was, there was not the slightest danger of him making his escape.

To-morrow would be the last day of his life.  To-morrow his foes should
have the pleasure of seeing him die--to-morrow the Comandante and
Roblado would enjoy their full measure of vengeance.

Even that day Vizcarra had enjoyed part of his.  For the scorn with
which he had been treated he had revenged himself--though it was he who
from the centre of the Plaza had cried "_Basta_!"  It was not mercy that
had caused him to interfere.  His words were not prompted by motives of
humanity--far otherwise.

His designs were vile and brutal.  To-morrow the brother would be put
out of the way, and then--

The wine--the music--the jest--the loud laugh--all could not drown some
bitter reflections.  Ever and anon the mirror upon the wall threw back
his dark face spoiled and distorted.  His success had been dearly
purchased--his was a sorry triumph.

It prospered better with Roblado.  Don Ambrosio was one of the guests,
and sat beside him.

The wine had loosened the heart-strings of the miner.  He was
communicative and liberal of his promises.  His daughter, he said, had
repented of her folly, and now looked with indifference upon the fate of
Carlos.  Roblado might hope.

It is probable that Don Ambrosio had reasons for believing what he said.
It is probable that Catalina had thrown out such hints, the better to
conceal her desperate design.

The wine flowed freely, and the guests of the Comandante revelled under
its influence.  There were toasts, and songs, and patriotic speeches;
and the hour of midnight arrived before the company was half satiated
with enjoyment.

In the midst of their carousal, a proposal was volunteered by some one,
that the outlaw Carlos should be brought in!  Odd as was this
proposition, it exactly suited the half-drunken revellers.  Many were
curious to have a good sight of the cibolero--now so celebrated a
personage.

The proposal was backed by many voices, and the Comandante pressed to
yield to it.

Vizcarra had no objection to gratify his guests.  Both he and Roblado
rather liked the idea.  It would be a further humiliation of their hated
enemy.

Enough.  Sergeant Gomez was summoned, the cibolero sent for, and the
revelry went on.

But that revelry was soon after brought to a sudden termination, when
Sergeant Gomez burst into the saloon, and announced in a loud voice
that--

_The prisoner had escaped_!

A shell dropping into the midst of that company could not have scattered
it more completely.  All sprang to their feet--chairs and tables went
tumbling over--glasses and bottles were dashed to the floor, and the
utmost confusion ensued.

The guests soon cleared themselves of the room.  Some ran direct to
their houses to see if their families were safe; while others made their
way to the Calabozo to assure themselves of the truth of the sergeant's
report.

Vizcarra and Roblado were in a state bordering upon madness.  Both
stormed and swore, at the same time ordering the whole garrison under
arms.

In a few minutes nearly every soldier of the Presidio had vaulted to his
saddle, and was galloping in the direction of the town.

The Calabozo was surrounded.

There was the hole through which the captive had got off.  How had he
unbound his fastenings--who had furnished him with the knife?

The sentries were questioned and flogged--and flogged and questioned--
but could tell nothing.  They knew not that their prisoner was gone,
until Gomez and his party came to demand him!

Scouring parties were sent out in every direction--but in the night what
could they do?  The houses were all searched, but what was the use of
that?  The cibolero was not likely to have remained within the town.  No
doubt he was off once more to the Plains!

The night search proved ineffectual; and in the morning the party that
had gone down the valley returned, having found no traces either of
Carlos, his sister, or his mother.  It was known that the _hechicera_
had died on the previous night, but where had the body been taken to?
Had she come to life again, and aided the outlaw in his escape?  Such
was the conjecture!

At a later hour in the morning some light was thrown on the mysterious
affair.  Don Ambrosio, who had gone to rest without disturbing his
daughter, was awaiting her presence in the breakfast-room.  What
detained her beyond the usual hour?  The father grew impatient--then
anxious.  A messenger was at length sent to summon her--no reply to the
knocking at her chamber-door!

The door was burst open.  The room was entered--it was found
untenanted--the bed unpressed--the senorita had fled!

She must be pursued!  Where is the groom?--the horses?  She must be
overtaken and brought back!

The stable is reached, and its door laid open.  No groom! no horse!--
they, too, were gone!

Heavens! what a fearful scandal!  The daughter of Don Ambrosio had not
only assisted the outlaw to escape, but she had shared his flight, and
was now with him.  "_Huyeron_!" was the universal cry.

The trail of the horses was at length taken up, and followed by a large
party, both of dragoons and mounted civilians.  It led into the high
plain, and then towards the Pecos, where they had crossed.  Upon the
other side the trail was lost.  The horses had separated, and gone in
different directions, and their tracks, passing over dry shingle, could
no longer be followed.

After several days' fruitless wandering, the pursuing party returned,
and a fresh one started out; but this, after a while, came back to
announce a similar want of success.  Every haunt had been searched; the
old rancho--the groves on the Pecos--even the ravine and its cave had
been visited, and examined carefully.  No traces of the fugitives could
be discovered; and it was conjectured that they had gone clear off from
the confines of the settlement.

This conjecture proved correct, and guessing was at length set at rest.
A party of friendly Comanches, who visited the settlement, brought in
the report that they had met the cibolero on their way across the Llano
Estacado--that he was accompanied by two women and several men with
pack-mules carrying provisions--that he had told them (the Indians) he
was on his way for a long journey--in fact, to the other side of the
Great Plains.

This information was definite, and no doubt correct.  Carlos had been
often heard to express his intention of crossing over to the country of
the Americanos.  He was now gone thither--most likely to settle upon the
banks of the Mississippi.  He was already far beyond the reach of
pursuit.  They would see him no more--as it was not likely he would ever
again show his face in the settlements of New Mexico.

Months rolled past.  Beyond the report of the Comanches, nothing was
heard of Carlos or his people.  Although neither he nor his were
forgotten, yet they had ceased to be generally talked of.  Other affairs
occupied the minds of the people of San Ildefonso; and there had lately
arisen one or two matters of high interest--almost sufficient to eclipse
the memory of the noted outlaw.

The settlement had been threatened by an invasion from the Yutas--which
would have taken place, had not the Yutas, just at the time, been
themselves attacked and beaten by another tribe of savages!  This defeat
had prevented their invasion of the valley--at least for that season,
but they had excited fears for the future.

Another terror had stirred San Ildefonso of late--a threatened revolt of
the Tagnos, the _Indios mansos_, or _tame_ Indians, who formed the
majority of the population.  Their brethren in several other settlements
had risen, and succeeded in casting off the Spanish yoke.

It was natural that those of San Ildefonso should dream of similar
action, and conspire.

But their conspiracy was nipped in the bud by the vigilance of the
authorities.  The leaders were arrested, tried, condemned, and shot.
Their scalps were hung over the gateway of the Presidio, as a warning to
their dusky compatriots, who were thus reduced to complete submission!

These tragic occurrences had done much to obliterate from the memory of
all the cibolero and his deeds.  True, there were some of San Ildefonso
who, with good cause, still remembered both; but the crowd had ceased to
think of either him or his.  All had heard and believed that the outlaw
had long ago crossed the Great Plains, and was now safe under the
protection of those of his own race, upon the banks of the Mississippi.



CHAPTER SIXTY NINE.

And what had become of Carlos?  Was it true that he had crossed the
great plains?  Did he never return?  What became of San Ildefonso?

These questions were asked, because he who narrated the legend had
remained for some time silent.  His eyes wandered over the valley, now
raised to the cliff of La Nina, and now resting upon the weed-covered
ruin.  Strong emotion was the cause of his silence.

His auditory, already half guessing the fate of San Ildefonso,
impatiently desired to know the end.  After a while he continued.

Carlos _did_ return.  What became of San Ildefonso?  In yonder ruin you
have your answer.  San Ildefonso fell.  But, you would know how?  Oh! it
is a terrible tale--a tale of blood and vengeance, and Carlos was the
avenger.

Yes--the cibolero returned to the valley of San Ildefonso, but he came
not alone.  Five hundred warriors were at his back--red warriors who
acknowledged him as their leader--their "White Chief."  They were the
braves of the Waco band.  They knew the story of his wrongs, and had
sworn to avenge him!

It was autumn--late autumn--that loveliest season of the American year,
when the wild woods appeal painted, and Nature seems to repose after her
annual toil--when all her creatures, having feasted at the full banquet
she has so lavishly laid out for them, appear content and happy.

It was night, with an autumnal moon--that moon whose round orb and
silvery beams have been celebrated in the songs of many a harvest land.

Not less brilliant fell those beams where no harvest was ever known--
upon the wild plain of the Llano Estacado.  The lone _hatero_, couched
beside his silent flock, was awakened by a growl from his watchful
sheep-dog.  Raising himself, he looked cautiously around.  Was it the
wolf, the grizzly bear, or the red puma?  None of these.  A far
different object was before his eyes, as he glanced over the level
plain--an object whose presence caused him to tremble.

A long line of dark forms was moving across the plain.  They were the
forms of horses with their riders.  They were in single file--the muzzle
of each horse close to the croup of the one that preceded him.  From
east to west they moved.  The head of the line was already near, but its
rear extended beyond the reach of the hatero's vision.

Presently the troop filed before him, and passed within two hundred
paces of where he lay.  Smoothly and silently it glided on.  There was
no chinking of bits, no jingling of spurs, no clanking of sabres.  Alone
could be heard the dull stroke of the shoeless hoof, or at intervals the
neigh of an impatient steed, suddenly checked by a reproof from his
rider.  Silently they passed on--silent as spectres.  The full moon
gleaming upon them added to their unearthly appearance!

The watcher trembled where he lay--though he knew they were not
spectres.  He knew well what they were, and understood the meaning of
that extended deployment.  They were Indian warriors upon the march.
The bright moonlight enabled him to distinguish farther.  He saw that
they were all full-grown men--that they were nude to the waist, and
below the thighs--that their breasts and arms were painted--that they
carried nought but their bows, quivers, and spears--in short, that they
were braves _on the war-trail_!

Strangest sight of all to the eyes of the hatero was the leader who rode
at the head of that silent band.  He differed from all the rest in
dress, in equipments, in the colour of his skin.  _The hatero saw that
he was white_!

Surprised was he at first on observing this, but not for long.  This
shepherd was one of the sharpest of his tribe.  It was he who had
discovered the remains of the yellow hunter and his companion.  He
remembered the events of that time.  He reflected; and in a few moments
arrived at the conclusion that the _White Chief_ he now saw could be no
other than Carlos the cibolero!  In that conjecture he was right.

The first thought of the hatero had been to save his own life by
remaining quiet.  Before the line of warriors had quite passed him,
other thoughts came into his mind.  The Indians were on the
_war-trail_!--they were marching direct for the settlement,--they were
headed by Carlos the cibolero!

The history of Carlos the outlaw now came before his mind--he remembered
the whole story; beyond a doubt the cibolero was returning to the
settlement to take vengeance upon his enemies!

Influenced partly by patriotism, and partly by the hope of reward, the
hatero at once resolved to defeat this purpose.  He would hasten to the
valley and warn the garrison!

As soon as the line had filed past he rose to his feet, and was about to
start off upon his errand; but he had miscalculated the intelligence of
the white leader.  Long before, the flanking scouts had enclosed both
him and his charge, and the next moment he was a captive!  Part of his
flock served for the supper of that band he would have betrayed.

Up to the point where the hatero had been encountered, the White Chief
and his followers had travelled along a well-known path--the trail of
the traders.  Beyond this, the leader swerved from the track; and
without a word headed obliquely over the plain.  The extended line
followed silently after--as the body of a snake moves after its head.

Another hour, and they had arrived at the _ceja_ of the Great Plain--at
a point well-known to their chief.  It was at the head of that ravine
where he had so oft found shelter from his foes.  The moon, though
shining with splendid brilliance, was low in the sky, and her light did
not penetrate the vast chasm.  It lay buried in dark shade.  The descent
was a difficult one, though not to such men, and with such a guide.

Muttering some words to his immediate follower, the White Chief headed
his horse into the cleft, and the next moment disappeared under the
shadow of the rocks.

The warrior that followed, passing the word behind him, rode after, and
likewise disappeared in the darkness; then another, and another, until
five hundred mounted men were engulfed in that fearful-looking abysm.
Not one remained upon the upper plain.

For a while there struck upon the ear a continued pattering sound--the
sound of a thousand hoofs as they fell upon rocks and loose shingle.
But this noise gradually died away, and all was silence.  Neither horses
nor men gave any token of their presence in the ravine.  The only sounds
that fell upon the ears were the voices of nature's wild creatures whose
haunts had been invaded.  They were the wail of the goatsucker, the bay
of the barking wolf, and the maniac scream of the eagle.

Another day passes--another moon has arisen--and the gigantic serpent,
that had all day lain coiled in the ravine, is seen gliding silently out
at its bottom, and stretching its long vertebrate form across the plain
of the Pecos.

The stream is reached and crossed; amidst plashing spray, horse follows
horse over the shallow ford, and then the glittering line glides on.

Having passed the river lowlands, it ascends the high plains that
overlook the valley of San Ildefonso.

Here a halt is made--scouts are sent forward--and once more the line
moves on.

Its head reaches the cliff of La Nina just as the moon has sunk behind
the snowy summit of the Sierra Blanca.  For the last hour the leader has
been marching slowly, as though he waited her going down.  Her light is
no longer desired.  Darkness better befits the deed that is to be done.

A halt is made until the pass has been reconnoitred.  That done, the
White Chief guides his followers down the defile; and in another
half-hour the five hundred horsemen have silently disappeared within the
mazes of the chapparal!

Under the guidance of the half-blood Antonio, an open glade is found
near the centre of the thicket.  Here the horsemen dismount and tie
their horses to the trees.  The attack is to be made on foot.

It is now the hour after midnight.  The moon has been down for some
time; and the cirrus clouds, that for a while had reflected her light,
have been gradually growing darker.  Objects can no longer be
distinguished at the distance of twenty feet.  The huge pile of the
Presidio, looming against the leaden sky, looks black and gloomy.  The
sentinel cannot be seen upon the turrets, but at intervals his shrill
voice uttering the "_Centinela alerte_!" tells that he is at his post.
His call is answered by the sentinel at the gate below, and then all is
silent.  The garrison sleeps secure--even the night-guard in the zaguan
with their bodies extended along the stone banqueta, are sleeping
soundly.

The Presidio dreads no sudden attack--there has been no rumour of Indian
incursion--the neighbouring tribes are all _en paz_; and the Tagno
conspirators have been destroyed.  Greater vigilance would be
superfluous.  A sentry upon the azotea, and another by the gate, are
deemed sufficient for the ordinary guardianship of the garrison.  Ha!
the inmates of the Presidio little dream of the enemy that is nigh:

"_Centinela alerte_!" once more screams the watcher upon the wall.
"_Centinela alerte_!" answers the other by the gate.

But neither is sufficiently on the alert to perceive the dark forms
that, prostrate upon the ground, like huge lizards, are crawling forward
to the very walls.  Slowly and silently these forms are moving, amidst
weeds and grass, gradually drawing nearer to the gateway of the
Presidio.

A lantern burns by the sentinel.  Its light, radiating to some distance,
does not avail him--he sees them not!

A rustling noise at length reaches his ear.  The "_quien viva_?" is upon
his lips; but he lives not to utter the words.  Half-a-dozen bowstrings
twang simultaneously, and as many arrows bury themselves in his flesh.
His heart is pierced, and he falls, almost without uttering a groan!

A stream of dark forms pours into the open gateway.  The guard, but half
awake, perish before they can lay hand upon their weapons!

And now the war-cry of the Wacoes peals out in earnest, and the hundreds
of dark warriors rush like a torrent through the zaguan.

They enter the patio.  The doors of the _cuartos_ are besieged--
soldiers, terrified to confusion, come forth in their shirts, and fall
under the spears of their dusky assailants.  Carbines and pistols crack
on all sides, but those who fire do not live to reload them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a short but terrible struggle--terrible while it lasted.  There
were shouts, and shots, and groans, mingling together--the deep voice of
the vengeful leader, and the wild war-cry of his followers--the crashing
of timber, as doors were broken through or forced from their hinges--the
clashing of swords and spears, and the quick detonation of fire-arms.
Oh! it was a terrible conflict!

It ends at length.  An almost total silence follows.  The warriors no
longer utter their dread cry.  Their soldier-enemies are destroyed.
Every cuarto has been cleared of its inmates, who lie in bleeding heaps
over the patio and by the doors.  No quarter has been given.  All have
been killed on the spot.

No--not all.  There are two who survive--two whose lives have been
spared.  Vizcarra and Roblado yet live!

Piles of wood are now heaped against the timber posterns of the
building, and set on fire.  Volumes of smoke roll to the sky, mingling
with sheets of red flame.  The huge pine-beams of the azotea catch the
blaze, burn, crackle, and fall inwards, and in a short while the
Presidio becomes a mass of smoking ruins!

But the red warriors have not waited for this.  The revenge of their
leader is not yet complete.  It is not to the soldiers alone that he
owes vengeance.  He has sworn it to the citizens as well.  The whole
settlement is to be destroyed!

And well this oath was kept, for before the sun rose San Ildefonso was
in flames.  The arrow, and the spear, and the tomahawk, did their work;
and men, women, and children, perished in hundreds under the blazing
roofs of their houses!

With the exception of the Tagno Indians, few survived to tell of that
horrid massacre.  A few whites only--the unhappy father of Catalina
among the rest--were permitted to escape, and carry their broken
fortunes to another settlement.

That of San Ildefonso--town, Presidio, mission, haciendas, and ranchos--
in the short space of twelve hours had ceased to exist.  The dwellers of
that lovely valley were no more!

It is yet but noon.  The ruins of San Ildefonso are still smoking.  Its
former denizens are dead, but it is not yet unpeopled.  In the Plaza
stand hundreds of dusky warriors drawn up in hollow square, with their
faces turned inward.  They are witnessing a singular scene--another act
in the drama of their leader's vengeance.

Two men are mounted upon asses, and tied upon the backs of the animals.
These men are stripped--so that their own backs are perfectly bare, and
exposed to the gaze of the silent spectators!  Though these men no
longer wear their flowing robes, it is easy to distinguish them.  Their
close-cut hair and shaven crowns show who they are--the padres of the
mission!

Deep cuts the cuarto into their naked skin, loudly do they groan, and
fearfully writhe.  Earnestly do they beg and pray their persecutors to
stay the terrible lash.  Their entreaties are unheeded.

Two white men, standing near, overlook the execution.  These are Carlos
the cibolero and Don Juan the ranchero.

The priests would move them to pity, but in vain.  The hearts of those
two men have been turned to stone.

"Remember my mother--my sister!" mutters Carlos.

"Yes, false priests--remember!" adds Don Juan.

And again is plied the cutting lash, until each corner of the Plaza has
witnessed a repetition of the punishment!

Then the asses are led up in front of the parroquia--now roofless and
black; their heads are fastened together, so that the backs of their
riders are turned toward the spectators.

A line of warriors forms at a distance off--their bows are bent, and at
a signal a flight of arrows goes whistling through the air.

The suffering of the padres is at an end.  Both have ceased to exist.

I have arrived at the last act of this terrible drama; but words cannot
describe it.  In horror it eclipses all the rest.  The scene is La
Nina--the top of the cliff--the same spot where Carlos had performed his
splendid feat on the day of San Juan.

Another feat of horsemanship is now to be exhibited.  How different the
actors--how different the spectators!

Upon the tongue that juts out two men are seated upon horseback.  They
are not free riders, for it may be noticed that they are tied upon their
seats.  Their hands do not grasp a bridle, but are bound behind their
backs; and their feet, drawn together under the bellies of their horses,
are there spliced with raw-hide ropes.  To prevent turning in the
saddle, other thongs, extending from strong leathern waist-belts, stay
them to croup and pommel, and hold their bodies firm.  Under such a
ligature no horse could dismount either without also flinging the
saddle, and that is guarded against by the strongest girthing.  It is
not intended that these horsemen shall lose their seats until they have
performed an extraordinary feat.

It is no voluntary act.  Their countenances plainly tell that.  Upon the
features of both are written the most terrible emotions--craven
cowardice in all its misery--despair in its darkest shadows!

Both are men of nearly middle age--both are officers in full uniform.
But it needs not that to recognise them as the deadly enemies of
Carlos--Vizcarra and Roblado.  No longer now his enemies.  They are his
captives!

But for what purpose are they thus mounted?  What scene of mockery is to
be enacted?  Scene of mockery!  Ha! ha! ha!

Observe! _the horses upon which they sit are wild mustangs_!  Observe!
_they are blinded with tapojos_!

For what purpose?  You shall see.

A Tagno stands at the head of each horse, and holds him with difficulty.
The animals are kept fronting the cliff, with their heads directed to
the jutting point of La Nina.

The Indians are drawn up in line also facing to the cliff.  There is no
noise in their ranks.  An ominous silence characterises the scene.  In
front is their chief mounted upon his coal-black steed; and upon him the
eyes of all are fixed, as though they expected some signal, his face is
pale, but its expression is stern and immobile.  He has not yet reached
the completion of his vengeance.

There are no words between him and his victims.  All that has passed.
They know their doom.

Their backs are towards him, and they see him not; but the Tagnos who
stand by the horses' heads have their eyes fixed upon him with a
singular expression.  What do these expect?  A signal.

In awful silence was that signal given.  To the right and left sprang
the Tagnos, leaving free the heads of the mustangs.  Another signal to
the line of mounted warriors, who, on receiving it, spurred their horses
forward with a wild yell.

Their spears soon pricked the hips of the mustangs, and the blinded
animals sprang towards the cliff!

The groans of agonised terror that escaped from their riders were
drowned by the yells of the pursuing horsemen.

In a moment all was over.  The terrified mustangs had sprung out from
the cliff--had carried their riders into eternity!

The dusky warriors pulled up near the brink, and sat gazing upon each
other in silent awe.

A horseman dashed to the front; and, poising his horse upon the very
edge, looked down into the abysm.  It was the White Chief.

For some moments he regarded the shapeless masses that lay below.  He
saw that they moved not.  Men and horses were all dead crushed, bruised,
and shattered--a hideous sight to behold!

A deep sigh escaped him, as though some weight had been lifted from his
heart, and, turning around he muttered to his friend--

"Don Juan!  I have kept my oath--_she is avenged_!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The setting sun saw that long line of Indian warriors filing from the
valley, and heading for the plain of the Llano Estacado.  But they went
not as they had come.  They returned to their country laden with the
plunder of San Ildefonso--to them the legitimate spoils of war.

The cibolero still rode at their head, and Don Juan the ranchero was by
his side.  The fearful scenes through which they had just passed
shadowed the brows of both; but these shadows became lighter as they
dwelt on the prospect before them.  Each looked forward to a happy
greeting at the end of his journey.

Carlos did not remain long among his Indian friends.  Loaded with the
treasure they had promised, he proceeded farther east, and established a
plantation upon the Red River of Louisiana.  Here, in the company of his
beautiful wife, his sister, Don Juan, and some of his old servants, he
led in after years a life of peace and prosperity.

Now and then no made hunting excursions into the country of his old
friends the Wacoes--who were over glad to see him again, and still
hailed him as their chief.

Of San Ildefonso there is no more heard since that time.  No settlement
was ever after made in that beautiful valley.  The Tagnos--released from
the bondage which the padres had woven around them--were but too glad to
give up the half-civilisation they had been taught.  Some of them sought
other settlements, but most returned to their old habits, and once more
became hunters of the plains.

Perhaps the fate of San Ildefonso might have attracted more attention in
other times; but it occurred at a peculiar period in Spanish-American
history.  Just then the Spanish power, all over the American continent,
was hastening to its decline; and the fall of San Ildefonso was but one
episode among many of a character equally dramatic.  Near the same time
fell Gran Quivira, Abo, Chilili, and hundreds of other settlements of
note.  Each has its story--each its red romance--perhaps far more
interesting than that we have here recorded.

Chance alone guided our steps to the fair valley of San Ildefonso,--
chance threw in our way one who remembered its legend--the legend of the
_White Chief_.



APPENDIX.

NOTES.

"_Sierra Blanca_."--Page 1.  The Sierra Blanca is so called because the
tops of this range are usually covered with snow.  The snow of the
Sierra Blanca is not "eternal."  It only remains for about three parts
of the year.  Its highest peaks are below the snow-line of that
latitude.  Mountains that carry the eternal snow are by the Spanish
Americans denominated "Nevada."

"_The Grand Prairie_."--Page 2.  This name is somewhat indefinite, being
applied by some to particular portions of prairie land.  Among the
hunters it is the general name given to the vast treeless region lying
to the west of the timbered country on the Mississippi.  The whole
longitudinal belt from the Lower Rio Grande to the Great Slave Lake is,
properly speaking, the Grand Prairie; but the phrase has been used in a
more restricted sense, to designate the larger tracts of open country,
in contra-distinction to the smaller prairies, such as those of Illinois
and Louisiana, which last are separated from the true prairie country by
wide tracts of timbered surface.

"_Settlements of Nuevo Mexico_."--Page 2.  The settlements of New Mexico
covered at one time a much wider extent of country than they do now.
The Indians have been constantly narrowing the boundaries for the last
fifty years.  At present these settlements are almost wholly restricted
to the banks of the Del Norte and a few tributary streams.

"_Gramma grass_."--Page 2.  The _Chondrosium_, a beautiful and most
nutritions herbage that covers many of the plains of Texas and North
Mexico.  There are several species of grass known among Mexicans as
"gramma"; one in particular, the _Chondrosium foeneum_, as a food for
horses, is but little inferior to oats.

"_Cackle of his fighting-cock_."--Page 7.  There is no exaggeration in
all this.  Every traveller in Mexico has witnessed such scenes, and many
have borne testimony to these and similar facts.  I have often seen the
fighting chanticleer carried inside the church under the arm of its
owner, while the latter entered to pray!

"_Fiestas principales_."--Page 7.  The more noted Saints' days, or
religious festivals, as Saint John's, Good-Friday, Guadalupe, etcetera,
are so styled to distinguish them from the many others of lesser
celebrity.

"_Tailing the bull_."--Page 7.  "Bull-tailing" (_coleo de toro_) and
"running the cock" (_correr el gallo_) are favourite sports in most
parts of Mexico, but particularly in the Northern provinces.  They were
also Californian games while that country was Spano-Mexican.

"_The Apache_"--Page 8.  One of the largest tribes of the "Indios
bravos" or wild Indians, _i.e._ Indians who have never submitted to the
Spanish yoke.  Their country lies around the heads of the Gila,
extending from that stream to the Del Norte, and down the latter to the
range of another large and powerful tribe--the Comanches--also classed
as "Indios bravos."

"_Familias principales_."--Page 8.  The "first families," a United
States phrase, is the synonym of "familias principales" of Mexico.

"_Comerciante_."--Page 8.  Merchant or extensive trader.  Merchandise is
not degrading in Mexico.  The rich merchant may be one of the "familias
principales."  Although there is still an old _noblesse_ in the Mexican
republic, the titles are merely given by courtesy, and those who hold
them are often outranked and eclipsed in style by the prosperous
parvenu.

"_Alcalde_."--Page 8.  Pronounced Alkalde.  The duties of the Alcalde
are very similar to those of a magistrate or justice of the peace.
Every village has its Alcalde, who is known by his large gold or
silver-headed cane and tassel.  In villages where the population is
purely Indian, the Alcalde is usually either of Indian or mixed
descent--often pure Indian.

"_Mode de Paris_!"--Page 8.  The upper classes in Mexico, particularly
those who reside in the large cities, have discarded the very
picturesque national costume, and follow the fashions of Paris.  In all
the large towns, French tailors, modistes, jewellers, etcetera, may be
met with.  The ladies wear French dresses, but without the bonnet.  The
shawl is drawn over the head when it becomes necessary to cover it.  The
hideous bonnet is only seen upon foreign ladies residing in Mexico.  The
city gentleman of first-class wears a frock-coat, but the cloth jacket
is the costume of the greater number.  A long-tailed dress-coat is
regarded as an _outre_ affair, and never appears upon the streets of a
Mexican town.

"_Gachupino_."--Page 9.  A Spaniard of Old Spain.  The term is used
contemptuously by the natives, or Creoles (Criollos), of Mexico, who
hate their Spanish cousins as the Americans hate Englishmen, and for a
very similar reason.

"_Hijo de algo_."--Page 9.  Literally, "son of somebody."  Hence the
word _hidalgo_.  The "blue blood" (_sangre azul_) is the term for pure
blood or high birth.

"_Poblanas_."--Page 9.  A _poblana_ is, literally, a village girl or
woman, but in a more specific sense it signifies a village belle, or
beauty.  It is nearly a synonyme of the Spanish "maja."

"_Don Juan Tenorio_."--Page 9.  Don Juan Tenorio--a celebrated character
of Spanish romance and drama.  He is the original from which Byron drew
his conception of Don Juan.  He is the hero of a thousand love-scrapes
and "_desafios_," or duels.  The drama of "Don Juan Tenorio" still keeps
the Spanish stage, and Spaniards can hardly find words to express their
admiration of its poetry.  It requires two nights to play this piece,
which is about twice the length of a regular five-act play.

"_Teniente_."--Page 9.  "Lugar-teniente" is lieutenant in Spanish, but
the "lugar" is left out, and "teniente" stands for the title of the
subaltern.

"_Quien sabel_."--Page 10.  A noted phrase which figures largely in
Spanish dialogue.  Literally, "Who knows?"

"_Gambucinos and rancheros_!"--Page 10.  _Gambucino_, a petty miner, who
digs or washes gold on his own account.  _Ranchero_, the dweller in a
_rancho_, or country hut.  The ranchero class corresponds pretty nearly
to that known as "small farmers," though in Mexico they are more often
graziers than agriculturists.

"_Enaguas_."--Page 10.  Sometimes written "nagua,"--the petticoat,
usually of coarse blue or red cotton stuff, with a list of white or some
other colour forming the top part.

"_Reboso_."--Page 10.  The scarf of greyish or slaty blue, worn by all
women in Mexico, except the ladies of the Upper Ten Thousand, who use it
only on occasions.

"_Allegria_."--Page 11.  A singular custom prevails among the women of
New Mexico, of daubing their faces all over with the juice of a berry
called by them the "allegria," which gives them anything but a charming
look.  The juice is of a purplish red colour, somewhat like that of
blackberries.  Some travellers allege that it is done for ornament, as
the Indians use vermilion and other pigments.  This is not a correct
explanation.  The "allegria" is used by the New Mexican belles to
preserve the complexion, and get it up towards some special occasion,
such as a grand _fiesta_ or "fandango," when it is washed off, and the
skin comes out clear and free from "tan."  The "allegria" is the well
known "poke-weed" of the United States (_Phytolacca decandra_.)

"_Sombrero_."--Page 11.  The black _glaze_ hat with low crown and broad
leaf is a universal favourite throughout Mexico.  It is often worn
several pounds in weight, and that, too, under a hot tropic sun.  Some
sort of gold or silver lace-band is common, but frequently this is of
heavy bullion, and costly.

"_Pueblos_."--Page 11.  There are many towns in New Mexico inhabited
exclusively by "Pueblos," a name given to a large tribe of civilised
Indians,--_Indios mansos_ (tame Indians) such tribes are called, to
distinguish them from the _Indios bravos_, or savages, who never
acknowledged the sway of the Spanish conquerors.

"_Peons_."--Page 12.  The labouring serfs of the country are _peons_.
They are not slaves by the wording of the political law, but most of
them are in reality slaves by the law of debtor and creditor.

"_Petates_," etcetera--Page 12.  A "petate" is a small mat about the
size of a blanket, woven out of palm-strips, or bulrushes, according to
the district; it is the universal bed of the Mexican peasant.

_Tunas_ and _pitahayas_ are fruits of different species of cactus.

_Sandias_ are water-melons.

_Dulces_ are preserves.

_Agua-miel_ and _limonada_, refreshing drinks peculiar to Mexico.

_Piloncillos_, loaves of coarse brown sugar, met with in all parts of
Mexico, and very much like the maple-sugar of the States.

_Tortillas_, the often-described daily bread of the Mexican people.

_Chili Colorado_, red pepper.

_Ollas_, earthen pots of all sizes--almost the only sort used in the
Mexican kitchen.

_Atole_, a thin gruel resembling flour and water, but in reality made
out of the finer dust of the maize, boiled and sweetened.

_Pinole_, parched maize mixed with water and sweetened.

_Clacos_, copper cents, or half-pence,--the copper coin of Mexico.

_Punche_, a species of native-grown tobacco.

_Aguardiente_, whisky distilled from maize, or sometimes from the aloe--
literally, _agua ardiente_, hot or fiery water.  It is the common whisky
of the country, and a vile stuff in most cases.








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