CHAPTER IX
TOLL-TAKING IN THE HUASTECA
"And when he came bold Robin before, Robin asked him courteously, 'O, hast thou any money to spare, For my merry men and me?'" --_Robin Hood._
For all his campaigner's instincts, the first of Driscoll's expectedtroubles came and was gone before he knew that it was trouble. Itarrived so naturally, and was so well behaved! With a stop for a bowl ofcoffee at a roadside fonda, they had been traveling for perhaps fivehours, when Driscoll saw the heads of two horses and their riders overthe brush, and at a turn in the trail he found that they were comingleisurely toward him. He observed them suspiciously, and wistfully. Thewild tropics around him had quite won his heart as peculiarly adapted toviolent amusements of a desperate tinge, far more so really than his ownMissouri woodlands. Yet thus far the uneventful tameness had depressedhim as a shameful waste of environment.
To boot all, here was this brace of villainous, well-armed Mexicans notgiving the least promise of entertainment. There was nothing todistinguish them from the usual sun-baked rancheros of the Huasteca,unless it were the first man's straw sombrero, the heavy silver mountingof which must have been worth in bullion alone a fair pocketful ofpesos. There was a cord of silver hanging over the broad brim, and therewas a silver "T" on one side of the sugar loaf, an "M" on the otherside, and a Roman sword in front, and all three were linked together infanciful silver scrolls. But the rest of the man was wretched. His feetwere encased in the guaraches, or sandals, of a peon. One of his eyeswas so crossed that hardly more than a baleful crescent was evervisible. The other vaquero, his companion, had no relieving trait atall, either luxurious or strikingly evil. His breeches of raw leatherflapped loosely from the knee down, and at the sides they were slit,revealing the dirty white of cotton calzoncillos beneath. Though theApril morning was hot, a crimson serape covered his shoulders. Both menhad pistols, and each also had a long machete two inches wide hangingwith a lariat from his saddle.
They lifted their sombreros, and he of the gorgeous one inquired if thatwere Don Anastasio's outfit coming up behind. A civil answer was meresttraveler's courtesy, and Driscoll reluctantly took his cob pipe from hismouth to reckon that they were pretty nearly correct. He might haveloaned them a thousand dollars, to judge from their gratitude, and theymade way for him by drawing off the trail entirely. Here they haltedtill all the burros and horses had gone by. The muleteers in passingthem, confusedly touched their hats. Murguia, who was then in the rear,stopped when he saw the two strangers. Driscoll looked back, but judgedfrom the greetings that the three were old acquaintances. Theassiduously respectful bearing of the timorous old man was to be countedas only habitual. And when he saw one of Don Anastasio's mozos bring abottle and glasses, he was completely reassured, and rested like theothers of the caravan some little distance ahead.
Murguia dismissed the mozo, himself poured the cognac, and begged thehonor of drinking health and many pesetas to his two "friends." Theycraved a like boon, and the clinking of the copitas followedceremoniously.
"I counted three hundred and sixty-eight half-bales," said he of thecrossed eye, with a head cocked sideways and tilted. The evidence wasagainst it, but Murguia knew well enough that the sinister crescent wasfixed on himself. "Three-sixty-eight, at half a peso each, that makesone hundred and eighty-four pesos which Your Mercy owes us, DonAnastasio. Add on collection charges, ten per cent.--well, with yourpermission, we'll call it two hundred flat."
Don Anastasio manifested an itch for argument.
"Oh leave all that," he of the crimson serape broke in. "Why go over itagain? We are loyal imperialists, and only our lasting friendship foryou holds us from informing His Majesty's Contras how you contribute tothat arch rebel, Rodrigo Galan."
"But," weakly protested Murguia, "but who believes that Don Rodrigoturns any of it over to the Liberal--to the rebel cause?"
"A swollen-lunged patriot like your Don Rodrigo--of course he does,every cent," and the cross-eye took on a jocular gleam.
"Now, Senor Murguia," he of the same eye continued, "the favor of yourattention. See that 'T' on my sombrero? That's 'Tiburcio.' See that 'M'?That's 'Maximiliano.' And that sword? That's 'Woe to the Conquered,' atleast the sombrero maker said so. Well, Don Anastasio----" and he endedwith a gesture that the poor trader saw even in his dreams, the unctuousrubbing of fingers on the thumb.
Sadly Don Anastasio unstrapped a belt under his black vest, and countedout in French gold the equivalent of two hundred Mexican dollars.
Don Tiburcio took the money, and observed, as in the nature of pleasantgossip, that Don Anastasio had quite an unusual outfit this time.
Murguia took alarm immediately. "Not so large as usual, Don Tiburcio.The crops up there----"
"Crops? No, I don't mean your cotton. I mean fine linen and muslin, andsilks, and laces--petticoats and stockings, Don Anastasio."
"They--they are Don Rodrigo's affairs, not mine."
"Enough yours for you to be anxious to deliver the goods safely, Ithink. But the rate on that class of stuff is rather high. Now what doyou suppose, my esteemed compadre, Don Rodrigo would say if we had toconfiscate the consignment?"
But Don Anastasio did not need to suppose. "How much?" he whimpered.
"Well, with the American----"
"Fires of hell consume the American! Collect your tolls from himyourself. He's no affair of anybody's."
The vaqueros laughed. "We'll throw in the American for nothing," saidDon Tiburcio generously. "Besides, to look at him, he may not bevery--tollable. But delicate dress goods now, there's a heavy duty onthem. I should say a hundred apiece." And without any seeming referenceto this revenue statement, the toll taker placed the tip of an indexfinger under each ear, then pointed them lower down against his throat,then lower again, and at the last the two fingers met in an acute angle,significantly acute, under his chin, while the half-veiled black bead inthe outer corner of his eye had a sheen unutterably merry and malignant.
The pantomime bore a money value, for Murguia stifled his wrath, againdrew out the belt, and more Napoleons changed hands. Murguia was thenfor remounting, leaving the flask of brandy with the two imperialistemissaries, as had become his custom. But the jovial Tiburcio stoppedhim. "What must you think of us, Don Anastasio?" he exclaimedcontritely. "We haven't offered you a drink yet." Murguia dared notrefuse, and he paused for the return of hospitality from his own bottle.At last he was on his horse, when Tiburcio again called.
"I say, Don Anastasio, if you want a big return for your money"--DonAnastasio halted instantly--"if you do, well, we ought not to say it,being devoted to Maximiliano. But no matter, I will tell you this much,poor old man--look after your daughter! Look after her, Don Anastasio!We've just come from up there."
A half cry escaped the father as he jerked back his horse. He demandedwhat they meant. He pleaded. But they waved him to go on, and rode awayindifferently, taking a cross trail through a stretch of timber.
Rigid, motionless, Murguia looked after them until they had disappeared.But when they were gone, a frenzy possessed him. He turned and gallopedto his caravan, which was again moving. He did not stop till he reachedthe American. "You owe me two hundred dollars," he cried. Thus hisdecent emotion concerning his daughter found vent. "Two hundred, I tellyou!"
"Will you," asked Driscoll, "take 'em now, or after you tell me what Iowe 'em for?"
Murguia wavered. The simple question brought him to his senses. But hehad gone too far not to explain. Besides, his insane device forreimbursing himself appealed to him as good. "Because--don't you know,senor, that travelers here must pay toll? You don't? But it's true,and--and I've just paid out two hundred pesos on Your Mercy's account."
The trooper's brown eyes flashed. "Which way did those thieves go?" hedemanded. "Quick! Which way?"
Murguia's avarice changed to trembling. He feared to tell. Driscollcaught his bridle. "Which way, or by--by--Never mind, you'll pay toll tome, too! I'll just learn this toll-t
aking trade myself."
Murguia saw a six-shooter sliding out. "You also!" he cried.
"Also?" laughed Driscoll. "There, I knew it, they were robbers."
He wheeled and rode back with the fury of a cavalry charge, heedless ofMurguia's cries to stop by all the saints, heedless of the saints too.Murguia did not care what happened to his guest, but he cared for whatmight happen to himself, afterward, at the hands of Don Tiburcio andpartner. He frantically called out that he was jesting, that Driscollowed him nothing. But Driscoll had already turned into the side trail,and was following the hoof prints there. Murguia could hear the furiouscrackling of twigs as he raced through the timber. But in a little whilehe heard and saw nothing.
"He's a centaur, that country boy," observed Jacqueline critically. "Theidentical break-neck Centaur himself. Really, Berthe, I think we shallhave to dub him Monsieur the Chevalier. Why Berthe, how pale you are!"
"I? Oh, mademoiselle, is there any danger?"
"Danger, child? Nonsense!"
"But what made him do that, that way?"
"Poor simple babe! That was a pose. Our mule driver knows he can ride,but we did not. And there you are."
"But the little monsieur, he looks like a ghost?"
Jacqueline laughed. "That, I admit, is not a pose. With the littlemonsieur, it's become--constitutional."
A half-hour later they heard an easy canter behind them, and DinDriscoll reappeared, flushed and happy as a boy pounding in first from afoot race. His left hand covered the bowl of his cob pipe from the wind,the other held his slouch hat doubled up by the brim. As for bridlehand, old Demijohn needed none. Driscoll seized Murguia's silk tile andpoured into it from the slouch a shimmering stream of coin and a mass ofcrumpled paper.
"To be robbed while I'm along, now that makes me _mad_," he said."You won't tell anybody, will you, Murgie?"
The old man did not hear. His palsied hands were dipping down, dippingdown, bathing themselves in the deep silk hat. The hat was heavy withgold and silver pesos, and foaming with bills.
"Greenbacks, Confederate notes," he mumbled. "Some I've paidbefore--only, lately, the rascals won't take anything but coin."
"Why's that, Murgie?"
"Why, because these green things are not worth much now, while thesegray ones"--he fingered them contemptuously--"would not, would not buy adrunkard's pardon from our cheapest magistrate."
The slur on Mexican justice only emphasized his scorn of the Confederatenotes.
"Give 'em here!" Driscoll snatched them from the yellow, desecratingfingers. "These here are promises," he muttered, "and we've beenfighting for four years to make them good. For four years, even thechildren and old men, and--yes, and the women folks back of us!"
The impulsive mood carried him further. He counted and pocketed thedespised notes. Then from an humble tobacco pouch he sorted out a numberof British sovereigns, and flung them into Murguia's hat.
"Prob'bly my last blow for them promises," he murmured to himself.
Meantime a burro back of them had become possessed of an idea, which forsome reason necessitated his halting stock still directly across thetrail to think it over. The caravan behind stopped also, while thearrieros snorted "Ar-re!" and "Bur-ro!" through their noses, and proddedthe beast. Jacqueline lost patience. She touched her horse, whichbounded out of the trail and galloped past the outfit almost to Driscolland Murguia. So she had seen the exchange of money and she had heard.She looked thoughtfully at the trooper's straight line of back andshoulder.
"Monsieur the Chevalier," she murmured softly, as though trying thesound of the words for the fast time. She would have supposed that nonebut a Frenchman could have done that.
As to Don Anastasio, the Quixotic redemption in specie was beyond himentirely. He gave it up. The counting of discs was more tangible to hisphilosophy. His rusty black tile, so wondrously become a cornucopia ofwealth, had by that same magic upset the old fellow into a kind ofhysterical gaiety, which was most elfish and uncanny. He motionedDriscoll to ride faster.
"Ai, ai, mi coronel," he cackled, when they were gone out of hearing,"you talk of bandits! Ai, ai, Dios mio, _you_ have robbed_them_!"
"What the devil----"
"Si senor, robbed _them_! A-di-o-dio-dios! here's more than theytook from me!"
"N-o?" said Driscoll in dismay. "Gracious, I hadn't any time to countmoney when I searched 'em!"
"You!--searched Don Tiburcio?"
"Why not? Isn't he a thief?"
"But--he permitted----"
"W'y yes, they both let me, I had the drop. But they got indignant andcalled me a thief--I believe they'd of called a policeman if there'dbeen one handy, or even---- Now what," he exclaimed, "what ails the oldbare-bones now?"
The senile mirth had left the trader's face, and his olive skin wasashen. "Next time," he moaned, "next time, Santa Maria, they will be inforce and they--they will take the very horse from under me!"
"Tough luck," Driscoll observed.
Murguia darted at him a look in which there was all the old hate, andmore added. But it disturbed the trooper as little as ever. "Come," hesaid, "own up. You knew we were going to meet those fellows?" Murguiasaid nothing. "Of course you knew. But why didn't you change your route,seeing you're too high-minded to fight?--What's that?--Oh that voice!Dive for it, man!"
"I, I couldn't change on account of my passport."
"What's that got to do with it?"
"In the passport I declare the route I take."
"I see, and you can't change it afterward?"
"No."
"Now look here, Murgie, have you got any more of these dates on?--Yes?No?--Murgie, if you don't dive, by----"
Murguia dove, and denied with eagerness that he had any furthertoll-paying appointments. But Driscoll reckoned that he was lying."And," he added, "we are going to change our route, passport or nopassport. We'll take--let's see--yes, we'll take the very nextcrosstrail going in the same general direction."
Murguia's alarm at the proposal belied his former denial. The lawrequired him to follow the course laid down in his passport, but hefeared the law less than the disappointment of road agents. DonTiburcio's receipt protected him from those controlled by Don Tiburcio.But Tiburcio was not powerful, except in blackmail. Murguia paid himlest he inform the government of tribute also paid to Don Rodrigo. NowRodrigo Galan was powerful. His band infested the Huasteca. He calledhimself a Liberal and a patriot, and he really believed it too. But healso declared that the tolls he collected went to the revolutionarycause, which declaration, however, even he could hardly have believed.
Don Rodrigo gave receipts, and his receipts were alleged guaranteeagainst other molestation, since he controlled the highway morethoroughly than ranger patrols had ever done. But lately a competitorhad appeared in the brush, and he was that humorous scoundrel, DonTiburcio of the crossed eye. Goaded near to apoplexy by the doubletolls, Murguia had once ventured to upbraid Don Rodrigo with breach ofcontract. There was no longer immunity in the roadmaster's receipts, hewhined. Then the robber chief had scowled with the brow of Jove, andhurled dreadful oaths. "You pay an Imperialista!" he stormed in loftyindignation. "You give funds to put down your struggling, starvingcompatriots! So, senor, this is the love you bear your country!"
It was a touching harangue, and the remorse-stricken trader ever afterdenied that he even saw Don Tiburcio, at which times a queer smile wouldsupplant Don Rodrigo's black frown.
It was this same Don Rodrigo who had been reported as slain byJacqueline's Fra Diavolo. But Driscoll, not having heard of his death,was quite ready to expect more brigands. He insisted, therefore, onchanging trails.
"The Senor Coronel is most valiant," sneered Murguia.
"So darned much so, Murgie, that I want to dodge 'em."
But his struggle against temptation was evident. He glanced back at thetwo women and again denounced the unfamiliar feminine element in men'saffairs. To avoid the brigandage encounter took more of manhood than DonAnastasio might imagi
ne in a lifetime.
But they had not followed their new route five minutes before Murguiawas again at the trooper's side. An "I-told-you-so" smirk hovered on hispinched visage. "Segundino has gone," he announced.
"So Segundino has gone?" Driscoll repeated. "Well, and who's Segundino?"
"He's one of my muleteers, but now I know he is a spy too. He will tellthe bri--if there are brigands--where to meet us." Murguia was thinking,too, of their reproachful increase on collection charges for the extratrouble.
"Then," said Driscoll, "we'll go back to our old trail," which they didat once. Soon after he was not surprised to hear from Murguia that "thistime it was Juan who had disappeared."
"Didn't I tell you to set a close watch?"
"Y-e-s, but what was the use? He slipped into the brush, and," thetrader complained, "I can't spare any more drivers."
"Don't need to. We'll just keep this trail now."
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