by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER THIRTY.
A YANKEE JEHU.
Along the lone causeway, three hundred years ago traversed by Cortez--and now, instead of open water, with a _zanca_ on each side of it--wejourneyed in solemn silence.
I had waited for that hour of the night when wayfarers, who might turninformers, were not likely to be encountered on the road.
We passed the isolated hill of El Penon without meeting any one; andcommenced skirting the saline shores of Tezcoco.
The ride, though long, was far from appearing tedious. How could it bein the company of a stage-coach driver--especially one from the"States?"
Who does not know him? Who that has journeyed upon the "corduroy roads"of Kentucky, Mississippi, or Tennessee--who thus dreadfully jolted--doesnot remember the compensation he has had, in the cheerful conversationof the man who conducted him over these accursed causeways?
In Mexico he is met, just as in the States; mounted on the box of a"Troy" coach; dressed in jacket, or tailed-coat with short skirts; theuniversal white hat upon his head; and perchance a cigar stickingslantwise between his teeth. Thus he may be seen--and never seenwithout being liked--almost beloved--by those whose luck it is to have aseat upon the box beside him.
Light, tight, intelligent, and cheery--civil to the humblest outsider--daring to a degree of recklessness--he is as different from the unwieldysix-caped carcase of English stage-coach celebrity, as a butterfly to abuffalo. Who ever sate on the box beside him, without longing to sitthere again?
Where is the guide-book that can tell you half so much of the road--every turn and winding--every incident that has occurred upon it for thelast ten years--murders, suicides, runaway matches, struggles with blackbears, and chases of red deer--in short, everything worthy of beingrecorded?
And all this with a thorough disinterestedness--his sole design being toentertain you. No thought of the "tip" which your Old World Jehuexpects to receive at parting company. Offer it to _him_, and in alllikelihood he will fling it back at your feet! He has not yet beencorrupted by the customs of king-loving communities.
Meet him in Mexico: for he is there. He had to go with the coachesimported from "Troy"--not the Troy of the Dardanelles, that "Ammon'ssons ran proudly round"--but its modern, and more peaceful, namesake inthe state of New York.
Although under a different name, the _diligencia_ of Mexico is thestage-coach of the States--its driver the same light-hearted happyfellow, with a good word for everybody, and a kindly smile for all the_muchachas_, plain or pretty, he may pass upon his route.
Interesting as this man is--and has been for a century in the UnitedStates--he is still more interesting upon the stage roads of Mexico.Scarcely a day of his life passes without his being in peril. I do notallude to the reckless pace at which he urges his half-tamed mustangs--three abreast--down the declivities of the Mexican mountains. These areoccurrences of every hour. I speak of the perils that threaten him fromthe behaviour of the _bandoleros_--by whom he is repeatedly surrounded.
Sam Brown's dealings with these gentry were of almost daily occurrence.At all events, there was scarcely a week without his being witness to ascene--not unfrequently having a tragical termination. More than oncehad he been present at the spilling of blood!
The _diligencia_ is usually accompanied by an _escolta_--a troop of_dragones_, or _lanzeros_, ill-armed and equipped; whose tattereduniforms, and feet set shoeless in their stirrups, render them moregrotesque than terrible.
At times the escort is itself attacked; and a sharp skirmish comes offbetween troops and bandits--the former not unfrequently fleeing thefield, and leaving their _proteges_, the passengers, to be plundered atthe discretion of the triumphant _salteadores_.
At other times the _escolta_ declines "coming to the scratch"--havingtaken the precaution just at the critical moment to be riding far in therear; then galloping up with swaggering demonstration, after the robbershave completed their pillage, and gone away from the ground!
Either a strong escort, or none at all, was Sam Brown's sentiment; buthis preference was, decidedly, for none at all!
In the latter case the _diligencia_ is often permitted to continue itsroute uninterrupted: the bandits believing, that it carries nopassengers worth protecting, and therefore not worth pillaging!
It is no rare thing for the "escolta" itself to be suspected; or atleast the officer commanding it. More than once has the connivance beenestablished, by evidence, in a court of law!
Still rarer does punishment follow in any proportion to the diabolicalcrime--the criminal usually getting clear by turning _salteador_himself!
On the other hand, there are times when an honest officer--one of actionand courage--makes his appearance upon the scene; and by the energeticperformance of his duty becomes a terror to the bandits--rendering theroads comparatively safe.
Unluckily this improved state of things continues but for a shortperiod. Some new _grito_--followed by the usual spasmodic revolution--brings about a change, both in rulers and robbers; who sometimes also_exchange_ situations! The energetic officer is snatched away from thescene--either by death, or promotion to a better post; and the passageof the roads becomes perilous as ever.
Such were a few of the revelations I had from the lips of Don SamuelBruno, as we journeyed along the lone causeway leading by the lakeTezcoco.
There were two things still unexplained, and which no little puzzled me:how my guide had contrived to come safe out of so many hair-breadthperils? And how he managed to keep his peace with the _salteadores_?
The explanation was asked for, and freely given.
The secret lay in a nutshell.
_No matter what happened, Sam always remained neutral_!
"Ye see, cap'n," said he--by way of explanation rather than apology, "asI'm only the driver, they hain't no ill-will agin me. They know I'm butdoin' my duty. Besides, if thar was no driver, there ked be no_diligencia_; an' if _it_ war off the road, all the wuss for them, Ireck'n. They look upon me as bein' nootral; otherwise I needn't go thatway agin. I keep on my box, an' leave 'em do as they've a mind--knowin'that I ked be of no sarvice to the poor passengers that's bein'plundered. I kin do _them_ more good, arter it's all over--by drivin'them on to thar destinashun."
For a time my companion was silent, and I too. I became absorbed inthoughts, cheerless, if not absolutely sad.
The sight of Tezcoco, along whose shores we were now proceeding, was notcalculated to cheer me. The lake looked still, and dark as Acheronitself--its sombre silence relieved only at intervals by sounds yet morelugubrious--the scream of the great curlew, or the screech-like call ofthe American ibis!
Giving way to a string of unpleasant fancies, I rode on without speakingto any of my comrades.
I was roused from my reverie by the voice of Sam Brown; who appeareddesirous of once more entering into conversation.
"Cap'n!" said he, spurring alongside of me, and dragging the pack-muleafter him. "'Scuse me for intrudin' upon you; but I've got somethin'more to say about this business we're on. What air ye goin' to do?"
"No excuse, Mr Brown. On the contrary, I was about to put the sameinterrogatory to you. I confess that I feel a little perplexed. Nowthat we've started on this expedition, I begin to see the difficulty--ifnot the absolute idleness of it. It seems absurd to suppose that therobbers would send one of their number to meet any messenger, who may bedeputed to them,--without taking precautions against a surprise?"
"They never do, cap'n. They ain't sech consarned fools."
"Well, I thought as much; or do now--now that I've had time to reflectupon it. It isn't the scheme I had intended to have carried out. Afterall, there's no alternative, but to go through with it. What's youradvice?"
"Well, cap'n; my advice might be no better than anybody else's; onlythat I've took notice to a thing or two."
"Where? When?"
"I kin answer both yer questions at the same time: whar and when thecoach was stopped."
> "You noticed something strange?"
"More'n one thing; several o' 'em."
"What were they?"
"First, then, the skunks were _craped_."
"I've heard the same from Don Eusebio. But what signification is therein that?"
"Not much, I admit; only that it ain't common for reg'lar robbers towear crape. They don't care who sees _their_ faces: bein' as they makethar home among the mountings; and never put themselves in the power ofthe sojers, or _alguazils_. These bein' craped, shows they're a lotfrom the town."
"What town?"
"Puebla, in coorse. It's the biggest nest in all the Mexikindomeenyuns. They wore that kiver to keep from bein' recognised--shedthey be met afterwards in the streets. It don't follow that they wereany the less brigands on that account. Them of the town air jest as badas them that keep out in the country. They all belong to the sameschool; only the outsiders don't care whether they're known by them asthey plunder; while the town chaps sometimes do--for sartin reasons."
"There were some other circumstances that appeared odd to you?" I askedof my intelligent guide.
"One other as looked darnationed odd. It puzzled me at the time, an' dostill. I had my eyes on them two saynoritas as travelled with the oldDon, thar father. There's one o' them especially I'd like to know whoked keep his eyes off o'. Well, what surprised me was, that instead o'seemin' scared-like, and squealin' out--as I've heerd other Mexikinsheemales do when tuk by the robbers--they both flirted off among thetrees, with two or three o' the brigands attending on 'em, jest as ifthey were startin' out a huckleberryin'!
"All the while the old Don war down upon his belly--flat as a pancake--from which seetuation he warn't allowed to stir, till the gurls had goneclean out o' sight.
"Then one o' the band bargained wi' him about the ransom-money--tellin'him it was to be trusted to me, an' whar it was to be brought. Theythen bundled him back into the coach, an ordered me to drive on--thewhich, I reckon, I war riddy enough to do."
"But there was a priest along with them. What became of him?"
"Oh! the monk. That 'ere is also kewrious. The robbers usooaly let_them_ go--after makin' 'em give each o' the band a blessin'! _Him_they kep along wi' 'em; for what purpose the Lord only knows. Maybe tomake sport o' him, by way o' divarshin. Seein' that I war no longerwanted, I gave the whup to the hosses; and fetched the old gentlemanaway, all by himself."
"Do you think his daughters in danger of being ill-treated?"
"Well, that depends on whose hands they've fallen into. Some are worsethan others. Some times they're only a set o' idle fellows from thetowns, who put on robber for the time--just to raise the wind in thatway. When they've got up a stake, they go back to their gamblin' at_monte_; the which pays them better, and ain't so much risk o' theirgettin' shot, or shet up. There are officers of the army who've beenknown to take a turn at the business--after they've spent their pay, ordon't get it to spend--which last happens beout half the time.
"Then there's the reg'lar _bandoleros_--or _salteadores_, as theysometimes call 'em--who live by it for constant. Of them there'sseveral seprit bands along this road. One in partickler, called_Carrasco's_, who used to be a officer in Santa Anna's army. There's_Dominguez_, too, who was a colonel; but he's now along wi' you at thehead o' the Spies. I don't think it was Carrasco's fellows that stoppedus this time."
"Why not?"
"_They_ wouldn't a' cared to wear crape. I hope it wan't them."
I had a painful suspicion why this hope was expressed; and anxiouslyenquired the reason.
"Because," answered the guide, "if it hez been Carrasco, I shed say apity o' them two young critters. Kewrious thar showin' so littleskeeart!
"Maybe they didn't more'n half know thar danger. As the robbers don'tallers ill-treat the weemen--'ceptin' to strip 'em of thar gimcracks andthe like--the Mexican sheemales ain't so much 'fraid o' 'em as ye mightsuppose they'd be."
"Arter all," continued he, "it may be that I war mistaken. They were soquick bore off into the bushes, I hadn't much time to take notice o''em--the more so as I had enough to do in keepin' my hosses from goin'over the edge o' a precipice--by the side o' which we were brought tothe stand."
"In any case," pursued Sam Brown, riding a little closer to me, andspeaking so as not to be overheard by my followers, "It air time ye madeup your mind what to do, cap'n. We're now come to the place, whar wemust take leave o' the main road. The rendezvoos gin me by the robberslies up one o' these side gullies, whar there's nothin' but a bridlepath. Another half-hour's ridin' 'll fetch us to the place o'appointment."
"Have you thought of any other plan than that already spoken of?"
I put the question, fancying from his manner that something else hadsuggested itself to him.
"I hev, cap'n. There's jest a chance that I know whar them crapedgentlemen air at this very minute--jest a chance of thar bein' thar."
The last words were spoken slowly, and in a sort of meditativesoliloquy.
"Where? Of what place are you speaking?"
"A queery place; and ye wouldn't know whar it is if I war to tell ye.To understan the lie o' that shanty, ye'd hev to see it for yourself;which not many ever do, ceptin' them as have got bizness thar--an' theyain't sech as air honest."
"A shanty--there's a house? Some solitary dwelling, I suppose?"
"Ye may well call it that, cap'n. It sartinly are the most solitariestdwellin' I ever seed; an' what any man ked iver a built it for, beats myrecknin'--as I b'lieve it do that o' most others as hev specklated uponit. Lies up thar."
I looked in the direction indicated by his gesture. Several dark listsseamed the side of the mountain--at the foot of which we had come to ahalt. One of them looked deeper and more cavernous than the rest;though all seemed to trend towards the summit of the slope.
The mountain itself went up with a gradual acclivity; its sidesforest-covered--except here and there, where the naked porphyry peepedout through the dark green drapery of the pines.
Though the sky was moonless, there were stars. By their light I coulddistinguish something white above and beyond the pine-covered track. Itlooked like a patch of fleecy cloud.
"That ere's the buzzum o' the White Woman," remarked the guide, seeingwhat my eyes were fixed upon. "She lies jest beyont the big blackmountain. There's only a sort o' a ridge atween 'em."
"_Ixticihuatl_!" I said, now recognising the snowy summit. "You don'tmean that the robbers are gone up there?"
"Not so fur as that. If they war, we _shed_ have a climb for it. Theplace I'm speakin' o' is in that dark gulley ye see straight afore you.It's this side the lower end o' it whar I'm to meet thar messenger, anddeliver up the dollars. That's jest why I think we might find them atthe shanty I've told ye about."
"There can be no harm in our going there?"
"I reckon not," answered the guide, reflectingly. "If we don't find 'emthar, we kin get back to the bottom afore daylight, an' then carry outthe other plan. Thar's one thing we've got to do, afore we reach thatere shanty. We've got to hev a climb for it; and the last quarter o' amile 'll hev to be made upon Shanks's mare."
"No matter for that," I said, impatient to proceed. "You lead the way.I'll answer for myself and men being able to follow you."
"I ain't afeerd beout that," rejoined Don Samuel Bruno. "But mind,cap'n!" added he, in the exercise of his Yankee caution, "I haint saidwe'll find them thar--only thet it air likely. All events it air worthwhile tryin'--considerin' sech a sweet gurl as she air in the hands o'sech ruffins. She oughter be tuk from 'em anyhow--an' at any price!"
I needed not to ask him which was meant by the "sweet gurl." Too welldid I divine that it was Dolores.
"Lead on!" I exclaimed, giving the spur to my horse, and the "Forward"to my followers.
