CHAPTER IX.
DONA HERMOSA.
Stoneheart was not mistaken in declaring that the dust, rising far awayin the desert, was caused by the servants of the _hacienda_; in fact,the hunter had scarcely left the persons he was guiding, when the cloudof sand was blown away by the breeze, disclosing a numerous party of_vaqueros_ and _peones_, well armed, who were approaching at the top oftheir speed.
Two horses' length in front galloped Don Estevan Diaz, chiding hiscompanions, and urging them to increase their pace.
The two parties soon met, and mingled with each other.
Estevan Diaz, as Don Pedro had foreseen, had grown anxious at hismaster's lengthened absence. Fearing lest some accident might haveoccurred, he had assembled all the most resolute men belonging to the_hacienda_, and placing himself at their head, commenced his search atonce, scouring the wilderness in all directions.
But had it not been for the lucky chance which led to the meeting withStoneheart, in the very moment when the strength and courage of thelittle party were oozing away together, it is probable that the searchwould have been without result, and another mournful and horribletragedy registered in the annals of the prairies.
The joy of Don Estevan and his party was great at recognising thosewhom they had scarcely hoped to see again, and the whole company gailytook the road to the _hacienda_, where they arrived in safety a coupleof hours later.
Dona Hermosa retired to her apartment as soon as she had dismounted,excusing herself on account of the fatigue she had endured.
She reached her cool maiden chamber, which looked so calm and pleasant,cast a glance of delight at the cherished appurtenances, and then threwherself with a feeling of instinctive gratitude, at the knees of theVirgin, whose image, crowned with flowers, was placed in a corner ofthe chamber, and seemed to watch over her.
Her prayer addressed to the Virgin was long, very long. For more thanan hour she remained on her knees, murmuring words which none save Godcould hear.
At last she rose, slowly, and as it were with reluctance, made a finalsign of the cross, and, traversing the room, cast herself on a couch,where she nestled in a flood of drapery, like the Bengali in its bed ofmoss.
Then she gave herself up to thought.
What power could thus profoundly occupy the mind, hitherto so gay andcheerful, of this young creature, whose life from infancy had beenone unbroken succession of gentle joys,--for whom the sky had had nocloud, the past no regrets, and the future no apprehensions Why did shefrown so heavily, tracing, on her pure forehead, lines at first hardlyperceptible, but deepening with her deepening thoughts?
None could tell. Hermosa herself could not, perhaps, have given anexplanation.
This was the reason: without accounting to herself for the change shewas undergoing, Hermosa awoke as from a long slumber; her heart beatmore quickly, her blood coursed more rapidly in her veins, a flood ofunknown thoughts rushed from her heart to her brain, making it whirl.In one word, the girl felt she had become a woman.
A vague uneasiness without apparent cause, a feverish irritability,agitated her by turns; sometimes a stifled sob would rend her bosom,and a burning tear show like a pearl on her eyelashes; then her purplelips would part under the influence of a charming smile, the reflectionof thoughts she could not define, beseeching her to drive them away,and return to the calm and heedless joys she was losing forever.
"Yes!" she cried suddenly, bounding from her couch with the grace of astartled fawn; "Yes: I will discover who he is."
Hermosa had involuntarily allowed the key of the riddle to escape her.Possessed by the spirit whose voice was evoking her inward agitation,she loved--or at least Love was on the point of revealing himself toher.
Scarcely had she uttered the words we have reported, than she blusheddeeply, and, urged by a charming impulse of maiden modesty, ran to drawbefore the image of the Virgin the curtain used to conceal it.
The Virgin, the habitual confidante of the girl, was not to know thesecrets of the woman. Full of holy fervour, Hermosa had immediatelyseized upon this delicate distinction; perhaps she mistrusted herself;perhaps the feeling which had been so suddenly and violently awakenedin her heart did not seem pure enough to be confided, with all itslongings and desires, to her at whose feet she had hitherto depositedall her hopes and aspirations.
Feeling calmer after this action, which, in her superstitiousignorance, she fancied would shroud her from the piercing eye of herheavenly protectress, Dona Hermosa regained her couch, and touched asilver bell standing beside her. At the sound, the door softly openedhalf way, and the arch face of a charming _chola_ (maid) appeared atthe opening with a look of inquiry.
"Come in, _chica_" (girl), said her mistress, making a sign for her toapproach.
The _chola_, a slim maiden, of lithe figure, and whose skin wasslightly tawny, like that of all half-breeds kneeled gracefully atthe feet of her mistress, fixed her great black eyes upon her, andsmilingly asked what she wanted.
"Nothing," was the evasive answer, "only to see and talk to you alittle."
"How glad I am!" said the girl, passionately clasping her handstogether; "It is so long since I have seen you, _nina_" (a term ofendearment).
"Did my absence distress you much, Clarita?"
"What a question to ask, senorita! Do I not love you like a sister? Dothey not say you have been in great danger?"
"Who says that?" asked Hermosa carelessly.
"Everyone; they talk of nothing but your adventures in the prairie. Allthe _peones_ have left their work to hear the news; the _hacienda_ isin an uproar."
"Indeed!"
"For the two whole days of your absence, we did not know what saint tocommend you to; I vowed a gold ring to my good patroness Santa Clara."
"Thank you," said she, with a smile.
"But you should only have seen Don Estevan! He would not be comforted;the poor fellow was like a madman, accusing himself as the cause of allthat had happened: he tore his hair, asserting that he ought to havedisobeyed your father, and to have remained with you in defiance of hisorders."
"Poor Estevan!" said the lady, whose thoughts were elsewhere, and whobegan to get weary of the chattering of her maid; "Poor Estevan! Heloves me like a brother."
"Yes, he does; so he has sworn by his head that such a thing shall nothappen to you again, and that from henceforth he will never lose sightof you."
"Was he really in such alarm about me?"
"You cannot imagine how dreadfully frightened he was, particularly asthey said you had fallen into the hands of the most ferocious robber inthe prairie."
"Yet, I can assure you, _chica_, that the man who gave us shelteroverwhelmed us with civility and attention."
"Exactly what your father says; but Don Estevan maintains he has knownthis man for a long time; that his kindness was feigned, and intendedto conceal some monstrous treachery."
Dona Hermosa had suddenly become thoughtful.
"Don Estevan has gone mad," she said; "his friendship for me bewildershis brains; I am sure he is mistaken. But you remind me that I escapedfrom him the moment after my arrival without offering him a word ofthanks. I must make reparation for this involuntary forgetfulness; ishe still in the _hacienda?_"
"I think he is, senorita."
"Go and find out, and ask him to come here, if he has not gone already."
The maid rose and left her.
"As he knows him," said Hermosa, as soon as she was alone, "I willmake him speak, and teach me what I want to learn."
So she awaited impatiently the return of her messenger.
The latter seemed to have divined the anxiety of her mistress, and madesuch haste to execute her commission that scarcely ten minutes elapsedbefore she announced Don Estevan.
We have already said that Don Estevan was a handsome man; he had theheart of a lion, the eye of an eagle; his carriage full of grace andsuppleness, betrayed his race. He entered, saluting the lady with awinning familiarity authorised by his long and int
imate connection withone whom he had known from her cradle.
"Dear Estevan," said she, stretching out her hand gaily, "how happy Iam to see you! Sit down here and let us talk."
"Yes; let us have some chat," answered Don Estevan, gladly enteringinto the spirit of Hermosa's gaiety.
"Give Estevan a chair, _chica_, and then go; I do not want you anylonger."
The maid obeyed without replying.
"What a number of things I have to tell you, my friend!" resumed thedona. "But first excuse me for running away from you. My sole thoughtwas to be alone, and put my ideas into a little order."
"I can easily understand that, dear Hermosa."
"Then you are not angry with me, Estevan?"
"Not the least in the world, I assure you."
"Are you quite sure?" said she, pouting half seriously.
"Do not talk about it anymore, my dear child; one cannot encounter suchdangers as you have been exposed to without feeling their effect uponthe mind for a long time afterwards."
"But it is all over now, believe me; yet, between ourselves, my dearEstevan, these dangers have not been so great as your affection for meled you to suppose."
The other shook his head in token of his want of conviction, andreplied:
"On the contrary, _nina_, these dangers have been much more seriousthan you choose to believe."
"No, they were not Estevan; the people we met treated us with the mostcordial hospitality."
"I admit it; but will reply with one question."
"Ask it; and I will answer it, if I can."
"Do you know the name of the man who treated you with this cordialhospitality?" And he laid considerable stress on the last words.
"I confess that I not only do not know it, but that I did not even takethe pains to ask him."
"You were wrong, senorita: for he would have answered that his name was'the Tigercat.'"
"The Tigercat!" she exclaimed, turning deadly pale; "The execrablemiscreant who for years has spread terror over the frontiers! You arewrong, Estevan; it could not be he."
"No, senorita, I am not wrong; I know the truth of my assertion. I canhave no doubt, after what I have gathered from your father."
"But how did it happen that this man should have received us so kindly,and that he should have profited by the accident which placed us in hispower?"
"No one can penetrate into the dark windings of that man's heart.Besides, who can prove he was not laying a snare for you? Were you notpursued by the redskins?"
"We were; but we escaped from them, thanks to the devotion of ourguide." And she spoke with a little uncertainty of voice.
"You are right again," said Don Estevan ironically "But the guidehimself--do you know who he is?"
"He constantly refused to tell us his name, in spite of the pressingentreaties of my father."
"He had good reasons for doing so, _nina;_ the name would have filledyou with horror."
"Then who and what is this man?"
"He is the son of the Tigercat; he is called Stoneheart."
Hermosa recoiled with instinctive terror, and hid her face in her hands.
"It is impossible," she cried: "this man cannot be a monster; this manwho proved himself so faithful, so loyal--who saved my life, too."
"What!" exclaimed Don Estevan: "He saved your life?"
"Have you not heard it? Has not my father told you the story?"
"No; Don Pedro did not say anything about it."
"Then I will tell you, Estevan; for whatever this man may be, I mustrender him justice. I owe it to him, to him alone, that I did not diein horrible agony."
"In the name of Heaven, explain yourself, Hermosa."
"While we were wandering in the forest, a prey to despair," shereplied, in extreme agitation--"while we were expecting the death thatcould not be long in coming,--I felt my foot bitten by a snake ofthe most venomous kind. At first I overcame my pain, in order not toincrease the discouragement of my companions."
"How well I recognise your strength and courage there, _nina!_"
"Let me continue," said she, with a sad smile. "The pain soon became sopiercing, that my strength failed me, in spite of my courage. At thatmoment God sent to our aid, him whom you call Stoneheart. The firstthought of that man was to help me."
"It is wonderful!" said Don Estevan Diaz.
"By the use of some sort of leaf, he managed to neutralise the effectof the poison, so that, shortly after having been bitten, I felt nopain from the wound, and am quite recovered today. Can you now denythat I owe him my life?"
"No," said he frankly; "for he saved you indeed. Yet for what purpose?That is what puzzles me."
"For the sake of saving me,--for humanity's sake; his after conductsufficiently proves it. It is to him alone we owe our subsequent escapefrom the Apaches, who were on our trail."
"All you say, _nina_, appears like an incomprehensible dream; I do notknow whether I am asleep or awake while I listen to you."
"But has this man really been guilty of the infamous actions whichexcite your indignation?"
Estevan Diaz did not answer: he seemed embarrassed; and there was ashort silence.
"I will be frank with you, Hermosa," said he, at last. "It is necessarythat you should know who your deliverer is. I will tell you all Iknow of him myself; and perhaps this knowledge may be useful to youhereafter, should fate ever again bring you into the presence of thisextraordinary man."
"I am listening attentively; proceed."
"Be on your guard, Hermosa; do not let the impulse of your heartcarry you away too far; do not expose yourself to future heartache.Stoneheart is, as I told you, the son of the Tigercat. I need tell younothing about his father; that monster with a human face has built upfor himself an infamous notoriety, too well known for me to enter intoits details. The infamy of the father has reflected on the son, andenveloped him in a halo of murder and rapine which makes him almostas much dreaded as his father. However, in justice to the man, I mustconfess that, although he is accused of a thousand evil deeds andodious crimes, it has been impossible hitherto to obtain positive proofof any accusation preferred against him. All they say of him is wrappedup in impenetrable mystery; yet everyone relates the most horribletales of him, although nobody can speak with certainty as to the truthof one of them."
"They are not true," said Hermosa.
"Do not be too eager to pronounce him innocent, _nina;_ recollect thata modicum of truth is to be found at the bottom of every suspicion;and, strictly speaking, this man's trade would of itself suffice asproof against him, and bear testimony to his natural ferocity."
"I cannot understand you, Estevan. What dreadful trade is it?"
"Stoneheart is a bee-hunter."
"A bee-hunter!" she exclaimed, with a burst of laughter. "Truly thereis nothing offensive in that?"
"The word is pleasant to the ear; the trade itself one of the mostinoffensive; but the bees, those advanced sentinels of civilisation,who, in proportion as the whites push forward in America, burythemselves deeper in the prairies, and take refuge in more inaccessiblewildernesses, require a special organism in the men who hunt them,--aheart of bronze in a body of steel, a fortitude beyond proof,indomitable courage, and unswerving will."
"Excuse me for the interruption, Estevan; but in all you have told me,there seems nothing that is not highly honourable to the men who devotethemselves to this perilous trade."
"Your observation would be just, if these men--half savages from thelife they lead, ceaselessly exposed to most serious danger, constantlyobliged to strive, in defence of their lives, against the wild beastand the redskin, by whom they are perpetually threatened--had notcontracted, perhaps in spite of themselves, the habit of sheddingblood; a habit of such cold-blooded cruelty, in a word, that they setno value on human life,--kill a man with the same indifference as theysmoke the bees from the tree, and often, for mere pastime, fire on theapproaching stranger, white or redskin. For this reason, the Indiansdread them more than the fi
ercest animals, and, unless they happen tobe in force, fly before a bee-hunter with more terror and precipitationthan from the grizzly bear, that redoubtable inhabitant of our Americanforests. Believe me, _nina_, I am not exaggerating. It results fromwhat I have related, that when these men reappear upon the frontiers,their arrival creates a general panic; for their road is a bloody one,marked by the corpses of those whom they have slain under the mostfrivolous pretexts. In one word, _nina_, the bee-hunters are completelybeyond the pale of humanity,--beings with all the vices of whites andredskins, and without the virtues of either: both races abjure andrepudiate them with horror."
"Estevan," gravely replied Dona Hermosa, "I have listened seriously towhat you have said. I thank you; but, in my opinion, it proves nothingeither for or against the person about whom I questioned you. I grantyou that the bee-hunters maybe semi-savages, of profound cruelty; yet,are there no noble and loyal hearts, no generous spirits, among them?You have spoken of the rule; who will tell me that Stoneheart is notthe exception? His conduct compels me to think so. I am only a young,ignorant, and inexperienced girl; but were I bidden to open my heart,and speak frankly, I should answer: 'My friend, this man, condemnedfrom infancy to a life of shame and trial, has striven valiantlyagainst the current which was dragging him away, and the force ofbad example assailing him on every side. Son of a criminal father,associated, against his will, with bandits to whom every restraintis an abomination, and by whom every sentiment of honour has beentrodden under foot, this man, far from imitating their actions,--farfrom burning, pillaging and assassinating as they do,--has preferredto adopt a career of perpetual peril. His heart has remained pure; andwhen chance offered him an opportunity of doing a good deed, he seizedit eagerly and gladly.' This is what I should say to you, Estevan,--andif, like me, you had studied this strange man for two whole days,you would be of my opinion,--which is, that he is more to be pitiedthan blamed; for, placed among ferocious brutes, he has retained hishumanity."
Don Estevan remained for a time lost in thought; then he turned towardsthe girl, took her hand, pressed it in his own, and looked at her withtender compassion.
"I pity and admire you, Hermosa. You are just what I thought you--I,who have watched the development of your character from your infancy.The woman fulfils all the promise held out by the child and the girl.Your heart is noble, your sentiments are exalted; you are indeedperfect--a chosen soul. I do not blame you for following the impulse ofyour heart--you are only obeying the instinct for good or evil whichsways you in spite of yourself; but, alas! Dear child, I am your elderbrother, and my experience is larger than your own. To me, the horizonseems to be clouding over. Without prejudging what the future may bepreparing for us, let me prefer one entreaty."
"An entreaty! You, Estevan! Oh, speak; I shall be so happy to doanything to please you."
"Thanks, Hermosa; but the entreaty has no connection with myself--itconcerns you alone."
"So much the greater reason for my granting it," she said with agracious smile.
"Listen, child: the events of the last two days have completelychanged your life, and feelings have germinated in your mind of whichyou ignored the existence until now. You have always placed entireconfidence in me: I demand the continuance of that confidence. My onlydesire is to see you happy; all my thoughts, all my actions, tend tothat goal. Never believe that I dream of betraying you or thwartingyour projects. If I am tenacious on this point, it is to aid you withmy counsel and experience; it is to save you even from yourself; toinsure your escape from the snares which the future may lay for yourinnocent frankness. Do you promise what I entreat?"
"Yes," she replied, without hesitation, and looking firmly in his face;"I promise, Estevan, my brother--for you are in truth a brother tome--whatever may happen, I will have no secrets from you."
"I thank you, Hermosa," said the young man, rising, "I hope soon toprove myself worthy of the name of brother. Come tomorrow, in theafternoon, to my mother's _rancho_ (farmhouse); I shall be there, andmost likely able to clear up certain matters which are so obscuretoday."
"What do you mean?" cried she, in great agitation.
"Nothing at present, dear child; leave me to take my own measures."
"What are your projects? What do you intend to do? Oh, do not attachmore importance to my words than I attach to them myself. InvoluntarilyI have been constrained to utter words from which you would be wrong todraw conclusions--"
"Be calm, Hermosa," said he, interrupting her, with a smile. "Ihave drawn no conclusion derogatory to you from our conversation. Iunderstand that you have avowed an immense amount of gratitude to theman who saved your life. I see it would make you happy to know thatthis man is not unworthy of the feelings he has inspired. I draw noother conclusion."
"It is exactly what I feel, Estevan; and I think the wish natural, andone to which no blame can be attached."
"Certainly, my dear child. I do not blame the feeling in the least;only, as I am a man, and can do many things interdicted to a woman, Iwill try if I can lift the mysterious, veil which conceals the life ofyour liberator, so as to tell you positively whether he is or is notworthy of the interest you take in him."
"Do that, Estevan, and I will thank you from the bottom of my heart."
The young man only replied by a smile to this passionate outbreak: hesaluted Hermosa, and retired.
As soon as he was gone, she hid her face in her hands and burst intotears. Did she regret the confidence into which she had been led, orwas she afraid of herself? Only women can decide the question, and onlySpanish-American women, who are so impressionable, and through whoseveins rushes the lava of their native volcanoes.
Don Fernando Carril, as we have already related, after his conversationwith the _vaqueros_, had taken, at a gallop the route to the _pueblo;_but when he was within a hundred yards of the first houses, heslackened his pace to a walk, and cast glances right and left, as if inthe expectation of meeting some person he wished to see. But if suchwere his thoughts, it seemed as if he were doomed to disappointment;for the road was completely deserted in all directions as far as hiseye could reach.
Les chasseurs d'abeilles. English Page 9
