The White Chief: A Legend of Northern Mexico

by Mayne Reid

  CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

  For a long time Carlos had neither been seen nor heard of except throughreports that on being examined turned out to be false. Both theComandante and his _confrere_ began to grow uneasy. They began to fearhe had in reality left the settlement and gone elsewhere to live, andthis they dreaded above all things. Both had a reason for wishing himthus out of the place, and until late occurrences nothing would havepleased them better. But their feelings had undergone a change, andneither the intended seducer nor the fortune-hunter desired that thingsshould end just in that way. The passion of revenge had almostdestroyed the ruffian love of the one, and the avarice of the other.The very sympathy which both received on account of their misfortuneswhetted this passion to a continued keenness. There was no danger ofits dying within the breast of either. The looking-glass alone wouldkeep it alive in Vizcarra's bosom for the rest of his life.

  They were together on the azotea of the Presidio, talking the matterbetween them, and casting over the probabilities of their latesuspicion.

  "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 hisown life better than anything else. Near is the shirt, etcetera. Heknows well that to stay here is to get into our hands some time orother, and he knows what we'll do with him if he should. Though he hasmade some clever escapes, I'll admit, that may not always be hisfortune. The pitcher may go to the well once too often. He's a cunningrascal--no doubt knows this riddle--and therefore I begin to fear he hastaken himself off,--at least for a long while. He may return again, buthow the deuce are we to sustain this constant espionage? It would wearydown the devil! It will become as tiresome as the siege of Granada wasto 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 lifeat it."

  "So I--so I, capitan. Don't fear I have the slightest intention ofdropping our system of vigilance. No--no--look in this face._Carajo_!"

  And as the speaker reflected upon his spoiled features, the bitterestscowl passed over them, making them still more hideous.

  "And yet," continued Vizcarra, following out the original theme, "itdoes not seem natural that he should leave _them_ behind him, even for ashort period, after what has occurred, and after the risk he ran torecover _her_; does it?"

  "No," replied the other, thoughtfully, "no. What I most wonder at ishis not setting off with them the night she got back,--that verynight,--for by the letter he was there upon the spot! But, true, ittakes some time to prepare for a journey across the prairies. He wouldnever have gone to one of our own settlements--not likely--and to havetravelled elsewhere would have required some preparation for the womenat least; for himself, I believe he is as much at home in the desert aseither the antelope or the prairie wolf. Still with an effort he mighthave gone away at that time and taken them along with him. It was badmanagement 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 thaneither mother or sister could, and I knew that."

  "Oh! now I understand you."

  "Yes," continued Roblado, grinding his teeth against each other, andspeaking in a bitter tone; "that precious `margarita,' that is yet to bemy wife,--ha! ha! He was not likely to be off without having a talkwith her. They have had it. God knows whether they agreed to make ittheir last, but I, with the help of Don Ambrosio, have arranged that forthem. _Carrai_! she'll make no more midnight sorties, I fancy. No--he's not gone. I cannot think it,--for two reasons. First, on heraccount. 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 countthat foolish act among my experiences,--when a man really loves, there'sno rope strong enough to pull him away from the spot where the object ofhis love resides. No, I believe this fellow, low as he is, not onlyloves but worships this future wife of mine,--ha! ha!--and I believealso that no danger, not even the prospect of the garrote, will frightenhim from the settlement so long as he has the hope of anotherclandestine _tete-a-tete_ with her; and, knowing that she is ready tomeet 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 thatwhich you yourself have brought forward. He is not likely to leave thembehind after what has happened. We have not blinded him;though--_Gracias a Dios_, or the devil--we have dusted the eyes ofeverybody besides! He knows all, as the girl Vicenza can well testify.Now, I have no belief that, knowing all this, he would leave them forany lengthened period. What I do believe is that the fellow is ascunning as a _coyote_, sees our trap, knows the bait, and won't becaught if he can help it. He is not far off, and, through theseaccursed peons of his, communicates with the women regularly andcontinually."

  "What can be done?"

  "I have been thinking."

  "If we stop the peons from going back and forth they would be sure toknow 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 hislair. I feel certain of it. Of course they have been followed, butonly in daylight, and then they are found to be on their ordinarybusiness. But there is one of them who goes abroad at night; and allattempts at following him have proved abortive. He loses himself in thechapparal paths in spite of the spies. That is why I am certain hevisits the cibolero."

  "It seems highly probable."

  "Now if we can find one who could either follow this fellow or trackhim--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 procureone of them?"

  "True, we might--there are none of them over well disposed to theoutlaw--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 thispurpose--for both are necessary. They hate the fellow enough, but theyfear him as well. There is _one_ whom I have heard of,--in fact knowsomething of him,--who would be the very man for us. He not only wouldnot fear an encounter with the cibolero, but would hardly shun one withthe devil; and, as for his skill in all sorts of Indian craft, hisreputation 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; oneis a mulatto, who has formerly been a slave among the Americanos. He isnow a runaway, and therefore hates everything that reminds him of hisformer masters. Among other souvenirs, as I am told, he hates ourcibolero with a good stout hatred. This springs partly from the feelingalready mentioned, and partly from the rivalry of hunter-fame. So muchin our favour. The _alter ego_ of the mulatto is a man of somewhatkindred race, a _zambo_ from the coast near Matamoras or Tampico How hestrayed this way no one knows, but it is a good while ago, and themulatto and he have for long been shadows of each other; live together,hunt together, and fight for one another. Both are powerful men, andcunning as strong; but the mulatto is the zambo's master in everything,villainy not excepted. Neither is troubled with scruples. They wouldbe the very men for our purpose."

  "And why not get them at once?"

  "Therein lies the difficulty--unfortunately they are not here atpresent. 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 i
t seems that the stomachs of our good abstemious fathers havelately taken a fancy to buffalo tongue cured in a certain way, which canonly be done when the animal is fresh killed. In order to procure thisdelicacy 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 thisvery 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 wallhe called out, "Hola! Jose! my horse there!"

  Shortly after a messenger came up to say that his horse was saddled andready. He was about to descend the escalera, when a largeclosely-cropped head--with a circular patch about the size of a blistershaven out of the crown--made its appearance over the stone-work at thetop of the escalera. It was the head of the Padre Joaquin, and the nextmoment the owner, bland and smiling, appeared upon the azotea.