Chapter FIFTY NINE: A Careless Search (3)

The news was anything but agreeable to the Catalonian Lieutenant. In the _alcavala_--which he had for the past two years been accustomed to levy on all the traffic between Puebla and Oajaca--he had found excellent pay for his soldiers; and being a man not over scrupulous, though brave as a lion, he felt greatly disinclined to change his comfortable quarters. A fierce royalist, moreover, the news from Huajapam excited his fury against the insurgents to the highest pitch; and he blamed himself for the clemency he had displayed that very morning in hanging four of the guerilleros he had taken, up by the neck, instead of by the heels--as he had done with three of their comrades.

About an hour after Don Cornelio Lantejas and his travelling companions had passed Del Valle--and only a few minutes from the time, when, thanks to the darkness of the night, two of Arroyo's followers had found an opportunity to carry off the heads of their three comrades--two men presented themselves in front of the fortified hacienda.

They were Gaspar and Juan de Zapote, who had hidden themselves during the day, and awaited the friendly darkness, to enable them to make their way through the lines of the besieging force.

"I see no one," muttered Zapote, as they glided into the avenue. "The place appears to be deserted! It's likely enough that my ex-comrades have abandoned the siege."

"So much the better--let us keep on then!" rejoined Gaspar.

"Gently, gently, compadre!" counselled Zapote. "You forget that my costume is of the military kind, and likely to make a sentinel suspicious of me. A carbine shot might be the only hail we should get from one of these Royalists."

"Your physiognomy, amigo, is more likely than your costume to beget suspicions."

"Ah! that comes of the bad company I have been keeping of late."

"Never mind that. I shall go forward alone, and make myself known to the sentries. I can then introduce you as a comrade, devoted to the service of Don Rafael Tres-Villas, and who offers to assist in delivering the Colonel from danger."

"Precisely so, that is, if the Colonel be still alive."

"_Quien viva_!" came the sonorous hail of a sentinel from the crenelled parapet.

"_Gente de paz_!" replied Gaspar, advancing alone, while Zapote, notwithstanding the obscurity of the night, instinctively placed himself behind the trunk of a tree.

"What is your wish?" demanded the guard.

"I am the bearer of important news from the Colonel Tres-Villas," answered Gaspar.

"And we wish to communicate them to Lieutenant Veraegui," added Zapote, from behind, but without leaving the shelter of the tree.

"How many of you are there?" asked the sentinel.

"Two."

"You may advance, then," said the soldier, dropping his carbine to the "order arms."

The gate was soon opened; and Gaspar and Zapote, entering within the fortress, were conducted by the corporal of the guard towards the quarters of his commander.

The Lieutenant Veraegui was, at the moment, within one of the chambers of the mansion, engaged over a game of cards with a young _alferez_. On the table before them stood a bottle of Catalan brandy--the product of his own native province--clear and strong as alcohol. A couple of glasses flanked the bottle, and beside them lay a pile of Havana cigars.

Zapote, on entering, could not help a slight tremor; which was increased as the Catalan Lieutenant bent upon him an inquisitorial look of his grey eyes, that glanced keenly under eyebrows long and grizzled like his moustaches.

Veraegui was a soldier of fortune, of rude unpolished speech, and with manners not very different from those which he had practised while wearing the chevrons of a Sergeant.

From the examination of Zapote, he passed unceremoniously to that of Gaspar, whose features he instantly recognised.

"Ah! it is you?" he said, addressing the messenger. "Well, you have seen the Colonel, and bring news from him? He has, I trust, escaped from the disaster of Huajapam."

"Senor Lieutenant," replied Gaspar, "I know not of what affair you are speaking. All I know is, that this morning the Colonel Tres-Villas was in the woods between here and the Ostuta--where the bandits of Arroyo were tracking him like a wild beast."

"Ho!" cried the Lieutenant, angrily, as he started up from his chair; "and it is only now you tell me of this, when you might have brought the news in an hour?"

"Pardon, Lieutenant: both my companion and myself were also hunted by the same brigands; and we were not able to escape from the woods one minute sooner than we have done."

"Ah! in that case, I ask your pardon, and that of your companion there," continued the Lieutenant, turning to Zapote, "whom I should certainly have taken for a friend of Arroyo, rather than an enemy to that worthy individual. Where the devil have I seen you, my good fellow?" he added, fancying he recognised the features of the deserter.

"Oh! your honour, I have travelled a great deal," replied Zapote, whose presence of mind did not forsake him. "It would not be strange if--"

"So the Colonel has sent you to apprise me of his situation?" said the Lieutenant, without waiting for Zapote's explanation.

"We met the Colonel without knowing him," blundered out Gaspar. "It was only afterwards we learnt it was he."

"Ha! that is very strange!" remarked the Catalan, again turning his eye upon the men with a suspicious glance.

Gaspar now related how, as he and his companion were flying from the bandits of Arroyo, Don Rafael had leaped down between them from the branches of a tree; and how they had parted from him without recognising him.

So far the story was well enough; but the narrator was treading on ground that was dangerous for Juan el Zapote. It remained to be explained how they had been informed, by the ex-comrades of the deserter, that the fugitive they had encountered was the Colonel Tres-Villas.

At this point Gaspar hesitated, while the suspicion glances of the Lieutenant flitted alternately from one to the other. Zapote, however, came resolutely to the aid of his companion.

"My compadre," said he, "does not wish to tell the whole truth, out of regard for me. I shall speak for him; and this it is. In going away from here on his message to the Colonel, my friend Gaspar was captured by the scouts of Arroyo, and taken to the camp of the guerilleros. There he stood a very fair chance of losing his life, when, out of regard for our _compadrazgo_, and old acquaintance' sake, I consented to assist him at the risk of losing my head."

"Oh! you are then from the camp of Arroyo?"

"Yes," muttered Zapote, in a tone of compunction, "the lamb is sometimes found in the company of wolves."

"Especially when the lamb so nearly resembles a wolf, that it is difficult to distinguish them," rejoined the lieutenant with a smile.

"I have always been an honest man," affirmed Zapote, with a demure look. "Virtue has been my motto through life; and I assure your honour, that I was forced to consort with these brigands very much against my will. I was only too glad, when, to save my old compadre here, I found an opportunity of making some amends for the wicked life I have been obliged to lead in their company."

"Hum!" said the Lieutenant, with a dubious shrug of the shoulders, "I suppose you expect your virtue to be well rewarded. But how did you ascertain that the man you encountered so unexpectedly was the Colonel?"

Zapote now recounted their subsequent interview with the brigands; and how he had learnt from them the object of their pursuit--as well as the adroit ruse he had practised to secure the escape of himself and his "compadre."

"It's all true as gospel!" affirmed Gaspar, when his companion had finished the relation.

Zapote also made known the advice he had given to Don Rafael: to conceal himself among the bamboos.

"At what place?" demanded the Lieutenant.

"Just below the ford," answered the deserter.

"But, Senor Lieutenant," added he, "I shall be most happy to conduct you to the spot myself."

"You shall do no such thing, my brave fellow. You and your worthy _compadre_, as you call him, shall remain here as hostages, till Don Rafael is found. I have no confidence in lambs that have been so long in the company of wolves. If the Colonel be living, so may you; but if I find it otherwise, then your prospects--Ho, there!" cried the Lieutenant, without finishing the threat, "take these two men to the guard-house, and keep them there, till I order them to be set free."

So saying, the Catalan poured out a glass of his favourite liquor, and commenced drinking it.

"What, and me, too?" inquired Gaspar, in a tone not very complimentary to his companion in misfortune.

"A fig for you! my worthy fellow!" rejoined the Lieutenant. "You should have remembered the proverb, _mas vale viajar in solo que mal acompanado_." (Better travel alone than in bad company.)

"By the cross of Christ!" continued he, after quaffing off his glass, "I shall make short work of it with this bandit, Arroyo. To-night I shall finish with him and his band; and if I don't give the jackals and vultures a meal that will last them for a twelvemonth, my name's not Veraegui!"

At an order from his superior, the _alferez_ flung down the cards, and hurried off to prepare the garrison troops for sallying out of the fort to the rescue of their Colonel; while the corporal of the guards conducted Gaspar and Zapote to the prison--the latter no little disconcerted at finding his first act of virtue so indifferently rewarded!

CHAPTER SEVENTY.

NEWS SWEET AND SAD.

From the middle of the cane-brake where Don Rafael had found shelter, he was able through the stems of the bamboos to see the camp of Arroyo and his bandits. He could note many of the movements passing within their lines; and at length perceived the guerilleros striking their tents, and riding off in a body from the banks of the river.

He still kept his place, however, until the night had fairly come on, and then wading back to the high bank where the bamboo thicket commenced, he looked out upon the open space between the river and the edge of the forest.

At first, all was silent along the bank of the stream; but shortly after three horsemen were seen riding past, and not far behind them two other men followed, also on horseback.

The first party were Don Cornelio and his companions, making for the ford of the river. The other horsemen were two of Arroyo's _guerilla_-- who, by his orders, had remained near the hacienda Del Valle, for the purpose of taking down the heads of his three followers nailed over the gate--should an opportunity offer for their so doing. They had found the opportunity--as already known--and it was they who had passed Don Cornelio at the ford, and whose ambiguous speech had caused a difference of opinion, as to its meaning, between the Captain and Clara.

The first care of Don Rafael, as soon as he believed the road to be clear, was to recover his horse--which he had left tied in a thicket in the woods.

Like his master, Roncador had escaped the researches of the bandits; but so weak was he with thirst and hunger, that Don Rafael had doubts whether the poor animal would be able to carry him. It was necessary that he should take the horse to the river, in order to water him. This required to be done by stealth; for, although Don Rafael had witnessed the departure of the guerilleros from the ford, he did not know whether those who blockaded the hacienda had also gone away.

After giving Roncador his drink, just as he was leading the horse up the bank again, he perceived a man coming from the direction of the ford. As this man was on foot and alone, Don Rafael resolved to stop and question him. Sabre in hand, therefore, he placed himself in front of the pedestrian.

The latter, thus assailed by a man with a naked sword--and who was covered from head to foot with a coating of mud--was almost frightened out of his senses.

"Oh, Lord!" he cried, "help a poor servant who is seeking assistance for his master!"

"Who is your master?" demanded Don Rafael.

"Don Fernando Lacarra," answered the man.

"Of the hacienda San Carlos?"

"_Si, Senor_. You know him?"

"Yes: is he in any danger?"

"Alas!" replied this servant, "the hacienda is pillaged by guerilleros; and, just as I was leaving it, I heard the groans of my poor master under the lash of their Captain Arroyo--"

"Again this villain!" muttered Don Rafael, interrupting the narrator with his angry soliloquy.

"Ah! he is always committing some crime," rejoined the servant.

"And your mistress--the Dona Marianita--what of her?"

"It was to make him tell where she was concealed that Arroyo was flogging my master," replied the man. "Fortunately I was able to get her out of the way, by assisting her to descend from the window of the chamber where they had hidden her. Afterwards I got off myself, and am now on my way to the hacienda Del Valle, in hopes of getting assistance from its brave defenders, who themselves never violate the laws of war."

"But how will you get in there? Are not some of Arroyo's guerilleros still besieging the place?"

"No, Senor. The whole band is now at San Carlos."

"Good!" exclaimed the Colonel. "Come along with me, and I promise you a prompt and bloody vengeance."

Without further explaining himself, Don Rafael leaped upon his horse, directing the domestic to mount behind him, and then started off at a rapid trot in the direction of Del Valle.

"Where did you leave your mistress?" inquired Don Rafael, as they rode on.

"In truth, sir," replied the domestic, "I was so confused when she left me, that I did not think of reminding her to fly to Del Valle. I only told her to make into the woods near San Carlos. But the most important matter was for her to get out of the reach of Arroyo; and I hope she will be safe in the chapparal. Poor young creature! She was so happy this morning. She was expecting on this very night the arrival of her father and sister--neither of whom she has seen for a long time."

The Colonel could not hinder himself from shuddering.

"Are you sure that it is to-night that Don Mariano and Dona Gertrudis are expected at San Carlos?" he inquired, with a tone of anxiety in his voice.

"Yes; a letter had reached my master to say so. God forbid that they, too, should fall into the hands of these merciless men! They say, too, that Arroyo is an old servant of Don Mariano."

"Let us hope they may not come!" said the Colonel, with a choking effort.

"It may be," continued the domestic, "that the illness of Dona Gertrudis may detain them a day or two on the journey. That would be the luckiest thing that could happen."

"What say you? is Dona Gertrudis ill!"

"Senor!" exclaimed the domestic, "you, who appear to know the family, are you ignorant that Dona Gertrudis is only the shadow of her former self, and that some secret grief is wasting her away? But, Senor, why do you tremble?" inquired the man, who, with his arm round his waist, felt the nervous agitation of Don Rafael's body.

"Oh, nothing," replied the latter; "but tell me--does any one know the cause of her grief?"

"Rather say, who is there who don't know it, Senor? Dona Gertrudis was in love with a young officer; and so fondly, that it is said she cut off the whole of her beautiful hair, as a sacrifice to the Holy Virgin, for saving his life on an occasion when he was in danger! And yet for all this, he who was thus loved proved faithless, and deserted her!"

"Well?" mechanically interposed Don Rafael.

"Well," continued the servant, "the poor young lady is dying on account of being so deserted--dying by inches; but surely--why, Senor, you are certainly ill? I feel your heart beating against my hand as if it would leap out of your bosom!"

"It is true," answered Don Rafael, in a husky voice. "I am subject to severe palpitations; but presently--" The Colonel, for support, fell back against the domestic, his herculean strength having yielded to the powerful emotions which were passing within him. "Presently," he continued, "I shall get over it. I feel better already. Go on with your history. This man--this officer--did he ever tell Dona Gertrudis that he no longer loved her? Does he love any other?"

"I do not know," was the response of the domestic.

"Could she not have sent him word--say by some means agreed upon--which should bring him back to her from the farthest corner of the earth? Perhaps then--"

Don Rafael could not finish what he intended to have said. A bright hope, long time suppressed, began to spring up within his heart, and with such force, that he feared to know the truth--lest it should be crushed on the instant.

"Senor, you ask me more than I am able to answer," rejoined the domestic. "I have told you all I know of this sad story!"

Heaving a deep sigh, the Colonel remained for some moments silent. After a while, he resumed the conversation, by putting a question, the answer to which might terminate his doubts.

"Have you ever heard the name of this young officer?"

"No," replied the domestic; "but were I in his place, I should not leave this young lady to die, for one lovelier I never beheld in all my life."

These were the last words spoken on either side: for at that moment the voices of the sentinels, challenging from the walls of the hacienda, put an end to the conversation.

"Say to Lieutenant Veraegui," commanded Don Rafael, in reply to the challenge, "that it is Colonel Tres-Villas."

The sound of the trumpets inside soon after signalised the joy felt by the garrison at the return of their old commandant, while the domestic of Don Fernando flung himself promptly to the ground, asking a thousand pardons for not recognising the quality of his _compagnon de cheval_.

"It is I who have most reason to feel obliged," said Don Rafael. "Remain here till I see you again. I may, perhaps, need you for an important message."

The domestic bowed respectfully, taking hold of the bridle of Don Rafael's horse, while the Lieutenant Veraegui, the _alferez_, with several soldiers of the garrison, came forth with torches to congratulate their superior officer on his escape from the dangers that had so lately surrounded him.

As soon as their first greetings had been exchanged, Veraegui informed the Colonel that they were just about preparing to start upon an expedition against the banditti of Arroyo.

"You know where they are, then?" said Don Rafael.

"Not the precise spot. But it is not difficult to find the traces of these gentry," replied Catalan.

"True," rejoined the Colonel. "But I chance to know their whereabouts. They are just now at the hacienda of San Carlos. This faithful servant, who is holding my horse, has lately escaped from them, and come to beg your assistance to rescue his master from the brutal outrages they are at this moment inflicting upon him. Lieutenant Veraegui! see that your men are provided with a sufficient quantity of ropes. Let a piece of ordnance be mounted upon the back of a mule: we shall, no doubt, require it to force open the gate."

"But, Senor Colonel, what do you want with the ropes?" inquired the Lieutenant, with a significant smile.

"For the execution of these brigands. We shall hang them to the last man, my dear Veraegui."

"Good!" assented the Catalan, in a joyous accent, "and this time by the heels, I hope. I shall never forgive myself for my foolish indulgence--"

"What! you have spared some of them?" interrupted Don Rafael.

"I have been too merciful to four whom I captured yesterday--in hanging them by the necks. But, by the way, Colonel, now I think of it, two odd fellows came in a while ago, who say that they wish to speak with you."

"I cannot receive them now," answered Don Rafael, little suspecting the supreme happiness their message would have given him. "I shall see them on my return. We have already wasted too much time, while the worthy proprietor of San Carlos is no doubt counting the minutes in anguish. I shall not even stay to change my dress; so haste, and get your men upon horseback."

"Sound `Boots and saddles!'" cried the Lieutenant, hurrying into the courtyard to give further orders; while Don Rafael, under the pretext of being alone for a few minutes, walked out into the garden, and directed his steps towards the spot where, two years before, he had deposited the remains of his father in the tomb.

His spirit once more excited by the revelations made by the domestic of Don Fernando, he felt he needed a moment of prayer to strengthen him for this final effort for the punishment of his father's assassins. The murder of his father had been for him a terrible blow, but, as time passed, even this grief, by little and little, had become appeased.

Far different was it with that other passion--which neither time, nor absence, nor the constant changing of scene, nor the duties of an active campaign, had been able to eradicate from his bosom.

He now knew that Gertrudis reciprocated his ardent love--that she was dying of it; and, in the midst of the mournful joy which this news had produced, he could have forgotten that his father's death was not yet avenged, as he had sworn it should be. One of the assassins was at no great distance from him, and yet he could scarcely restrain himself from yielding to the almost irresistible desire of galloping direct to Oajaca, where he supposed Gertrudis to be, and then, flinging himself at her feet, confessing that, without her, he could no longer live.

It was to steel his soul against this temptation, and enable him to keep the oath he had sworn, that Don Rafael now repaired to his father's grave.

CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE.

THE CAPTURE OF SAN CARLOS.

A few minutes sufficed for the performance of his sacred duty; and Don Rafael, returning to the courtyard, placed himself at the head of his troopers--already in their saddles. There were eighty in all ordered upon the expedition--only a small garrison of twenty men being left-- just sufficient to defend the fortress. Two pack-mules accompanied the party--one carrying a small howitzer, while the other was laden with the necessary _caisson_ of ammunition.

At a given signal the great gate of the hacienda was thrown open, and the troopers filing through, passed on down the avenue at a rapid trot, and in silence.

A dozen or so of light cavalry went in advance of the main body--for the purpose of reconnoitring the ground--and at the head of these was Don Rafael himself with the Lieutenant Veraegui.

On the way the Lieutenant, in brief language, rendered an account to his superior of the events that had happened since his last despatch to him--to all of which Don Rafael listened far from attentively. Absorbed in his thoughts, he sat abstractedly in his saddle until after they had forded the Ostuta.

On the other side of the river the advance guard halted to give the main body time to come up; and here Don Rafael ordered the domestic of Don Fernando to be brought into his presence.

"Do you know," said he, addressing the man, "if there be any road by which we can get round the hacienda, and approach it from the opposite side?"

The domestic replied in the affirmative. He knew a path by which he could conduct the troopers to the rear of the building, and by which they might advance up to the very walls without their approach being discovered.

"Go ahead then along with the scouts!" directed Don Rafael. "It is necessary we take these robbers by surprise, else they may get off from us as they have done before."

The guide obeyed the order, and placing himself at the head of the advance guard, the march was resumed.

The path by which the domestic conducted them made a detour round the foot of the hill, upon which the hacienda stood, and where, but a few hours earlier, Don Cornelio Lantejas had seen the flames shining so brightly through the windows. All was now silent as the tomb; and no sound of any kind announced that the approach of the assailing party was suspected.

A little further on the guide halted and pointed out to Don Rafael several paths that branched off from the one they were following, and by which the party, separating into several detachments, might completely encompass the hacienda. This was exactly what Don Rafael wanted.

Reserving to himself the command of the main body, he detached three smaller parties by these paths--one under the direction of Veraegui, the others each commanded by an alferez. These, at a given signal, were to attack on right, left, and in the rear; while Don Rafael himself with the howitzer would storm the building in front. Each party was provided with a supply of hand-grenades, to be thrown into the courtyard of the hacienda, or into such other places as the enemy might seek refuge in.

So long as the assailants were sheltered from view by the trees and shrubs that skirted the hill, they approached without being discovered: but the moment they became uncovered, on getting nearer to the walls, shouts of alarm and shots fired by the sentries summoned the garrison to the defence; and an irregular fusillade was commenced from the azotea of the building.

The different parties of the attacking force, without heeding this, kept on throwing their grenades as they advanced; while the party of Don Rafael, on arriving in front of the building, at once mounted the howitzer upon its carriage, and opened fire upon the main gateway.

The first shot crushed through the heavy timbers, carrying away one of the posterns of the gate.

Meanwhile, the grenades, falling within the courtyard began to burst upon the pavement--frightening the horses of the guerilleros to such an extent, that the animals broke from their fastenings, and galloped about, causing the greatest confusion. The shouts of alarm, the groans of the wounded, and the furious imprecations of the bandits, was for a time the only answer made to the reports of the bursting grenades, which were making such havoc in their ranks.

The loud explosion of the howitzer proclaimed a second discharge; and this time the shot penetrated into the courtyard, and cut its way through a mass of insurgents crowded near the further end of it.

"Once more! once more!" cried Don Rafael. "Batter down the other wing of the gate, and then, sword in hand, let us enter!"

So quickly did the practised artillerists of Veraegui handle their piece, that almost on the instant it was loaded and discharged for the third time. The ball passed once more through the heavy door; the leaf gave way and fell back with a crash, leaving the entrance open.

Tres-Villas, sword in hand, rushed into the gateway, followed by his faithful adherents.

"Where is the dog Arroyo?" cried he, bounding forward among the thick of the brigands, and cutting down every one within reach of his sword before an answer could be given. "On, my men!" he continued, "neither prisoners nor quarter!"

"I shall hang by the feet all who surrender!" thundered the voice of the Catalan from behind.

But despite this moderate promise of mercy, not one of the bandits offered to deliver himself up; and very soon the courtyard contained only a pile of dead bodies of the insurgents--the few who still lived having betaken themselves to the upper rooms of the building, where they secured themselves from present death by barricading the doors.

"Where is the dog Arroyo? A thousand pesos to the man who can lead me to the presence of the monster!" cried Don Rafael, vainly searching for the guerilla leader.

But Arroyo and his associate Bocardo were sought for in vain: since it will be remembered that both had gone off from the hacienda in search of its fugitive mistress.

The dead bodies were examined one after the other, and with care, but no Arroyo--no Bocardo--could be found among them.

"Let us on, Veraegui!" said Don Rafael. "We must attack them in their stronghold. The chiefs must be hidden up yonder! There is no time to be lost."

"Alas!" rejoined the Catalan, with a sigh, as he stood regarding the dead bodies with an air of regret, "I fear, Colonel, our ropes will be useless after all. These fellows are all dead; and, as for their comrades up there, we shall have to set fire to their retreat, and burn them alive in it. If we attempt to dislodge them otherwise, it will cost us a goodly number of our people."

"Oh! do not set fire to the house, Senor Colonel!" interposed the faithful domestic, in an appealing tone; "my poor master is there, and would suffer with the rest. All his people, too, are with him, and in the power of the brigands."

"It is true, what he says," rejoined Don Rafael, moved by the appeal of the domestic; "and yet it will never do to let these fiends escape. If we attack them, entrenched as they are, and knowing that certain death await them, they may cost us, as you say, more men than they are worth. What is your advice, Lieutenant?"

"That we reduce them by a siege, and starve them into surrendering. For my part, I don't wish to be baulked about the hanging of them-- especially after the trouble we have taken in bringing these ropes along with us."

"It will cost time; but I agree with you, it seems the best thing we can do. They must soon yield to hunger; and perhaps before that time we may find some opportunity of getting Don Fernando out of their power. At all events, let us wait for sunrise before renewing the attack. Meanwhile, I leave you to conduct the blockade. The poor lady, Marianita, is, no doubt, wandering about in the woods near at hand. I shall myself go in search of her."

Saying this, and giving orders for half a dozen chosen men to follow him, Don Rafael leaped into his saddle, and rode off through the gateway of the hacienda.

He had scarcely passed out of sight, when the sentinels placed by Veraegui were signalled by two men who wished to enter the courtyard. Both were afoot, and appeared to have come in such haste that they could scarce get breath enough to proclaim their errand.

"What do you want?" asked the Catalan, before looking at the men. "Eh! my droll fellows!" he continued, recognising Gaspar and Zapote, "it is you, is it? How the devil did you get out of my guard-house?"

"The sentry allowed us to go, your honour," answered Zapote. "He knew that you did not wish us to be detained, if the Colonel should be found alive; and as we have an important message to him--"

"The Colonel is gone away from here," interrupted Veraegui.

"Gone!" exclaimed Zapote, with an air of extreme chagrin. "Where is he gone to, your honour?"

The Lieutenant, after pointing out the direction in which Don Rafael had ridden away, turned his back upon the two adventurers--who, instead of being offended at this rudeness, were only too glad to terminate their interview with the dreaded Catalan. They lost no time, therefore, in making their exit from the courtyard; and, as fast as their legs could carry them, they started off in the direction taken by him whom they had so long unsuccessfully followed.

CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO.

THE ENCHANTED LAKE.

It is ten o'clock at night, and a starry heaven is extended over a large expanse of level country--here clothed with virgin forests--there with broad, almost treeless savannas, now and then partaking of the character of marshes and covered with tall reeds. In the midst of this landscape a large lake opens to the view. Its aspect is sombre and sad--its dark, turbid waters scarce reflecting the stars that shine so brilliantly over it; while the waves beating against its sedge-encircled shores, utter only the most lugubrious sounds.

Near the centre of this lake rises a mountain of dark, greenish colour, resembling an immense cairn constructed by the hands of Titans. Upon its summit rests a cloud of white fog collected by evaporation from the surrounding water, which has been condensed by the freshness of the night. The numerous dark fissures distinguishable along the sides of this gigantic hill give it the appearance of being a mass of lava--the debris vomited forth by some extinct volcano--and at night, when the moon's rays fall obliquely upon its flanks, it presents a vague resemblance to the scales of an alligator. At the same time that this fancy is suggested, the huge saurian itself may be heard, plunging among the reeds at its foot, and causing their culms to rattle against the rhomboid protuberances of his hideous carapace.

The mournful and desolate aspect of this lake, as well as of the shores that surround it--the eternal silence that reigns over it--the bleak, lonely appearance of its island mountain--all combine to produce upon the spectator an irresistible impression of melancholy; and a spirit of superstitious inclinings cannot help giving way to thoughts of the supernatural. No wonder that in such a place the ancient Aztec priests should have erected an altar for their sanguinary sacrifices; and so strong is tradition, that even in modern times the lake of Ostuta and the mountain of Monopostiac, are invested with supernatural attributes, and regarded by the vulgar with feelings of awe.

It was to the shores of this lake that the domestic of Don Mariano de Silva had conducted his master, certain of finding there a secure resting-place for the night. He knew that the country surrounding the lake was entirely uninhabited; and the brigands of Arroyo would scarce extend their excursions to such an unprofitable foraging ground. The southern end of the lake was bordered by a strip of forest; and it was in this forest that Don Mariano had determined to make halt for the night.

A small glade surrounded by trees of many species was chosen by the travellers as a place of their bivouac. The ground was covered with a carpet of soft grass, and many flowering shrubs and blossoming llianas, supported by the trees that grew around, yielded to the night an odorous incense that was wafted over the glade. It was, in fact, a bower made by the hand of nature, over which was extended the dark blue canopy of the sky, studded with its millions of scintillating stars.

Don Mariano had selected this lovely spot with a design--that of distracting his daughter's spirit from the sad reflections which the more gloomy portions of the forest might otherwise have called up.

Shortly after halting, Dona Gertrudis had fallen asleep in her _litera_--through the curtains of which, only half closed, might be seen her soft cheek, white almost as the pillow upon which it lay.

Nature had almost repaired the outrage she had voluntarily committed on her long dark tresses; but the life within her seemed fast hastening to an end, and her breathing told how feeble was the spirit that now animated her bosom. She appeared like one of the white passion-flowers growing near, but more like one that had been plucked from the stem which had been the source of its life and sweetness.

Don Mariano stood near the _litera_--gazing upon the pale face of his child with feelings of sad tenderness. He could not help calling up this very comparison--although it was torture to his soul; for he knew that the flower once plucked must irrevocably wither and die.

At some distance from the _litera_, and nearer the edge of the lake, three of the attendants were seated together upon the grass. They were conversing, in low tones, for the purpose of passing the time. The fourth, who was the guide already mentioned, had gone forward through the woods--partly to search for the crossing, but also to reconnoitre the path, and find out whether the road to San Carlos was clear of the guerilleros.

Through a break in the forest that surrounded the glade, the enchanted mountain was visible--its sombre silhouette outlined against the blue background of the sky.

In all countries, every object that appears to vary from the ordinary laws of nature, possesses, for the vulgar imagination, a powerful interest; and the servants of Don Mariano were no exception to the rule.

"I have heard it said," whispered one of them, "that the waters of this lake now so muddy, were once as clear as crystal; and that it was only after they were consecrated to the devil, that they became as they are now."

"Bah!" rejoined another, "I don't believe what they say about the devil living up there upon the _Cerro encantado_. He would choose a more pleasant place for his residence, I should fancy."

"Well," said the first speaker, who was named Zefirino, and who was better acquainted with the locality than either of his companions, "whether the devil dwells there or not, some terrible things have taken place on that mountain; and it is said, still happen there. I have heard that the fog which you see upon its summit, and which always rests there at night, is extended over it by the god of the Indians--who is only the devil himself. He does that to hide what goes on up there. There's one strange story the Indians themselves tell."

"What is it? Let us hear it, Zefirino."

"Well, you've heard how in old times the Indian priests had an altar up yonder--upon which they used to sacrifice scores of human beings--so that the blood ran down the fissures of the rock like water after a shower of rain. Their plan was to cut open the breast of the victim, and tear out his heart while still alive. But why need I frighten you with a story that, by my faith, is fearful enough?"

"No--no--never mind! Go on, Zefirino."

"Stay!" cried the other domestic. "Did you not hear a noise--just down there by the edge of the lake?"

"Bah! it's only an alligator snapping his jaws together. Go on, Zefirino!"

"Well, comrades--the story is, that about five hundred years ago, one of the unfortunate victims was about to be sacrificed in this manner as usual. The cruel priest had opened his breast and taken out the heart; when, to the astonishment of all around, the Indian seized hold of his own heart, and endeavoured to put it back in its place. His hand, however, trembled, and the heart slipping from his grasp, rolled down the mountain side and into the lake. The Indian, uttering a terrible howl, plunged in after for the purpose of recovering his heart from the water, and was never seen again. Of course, a man like that could not possibly die; and for five hundred years the Indian has been wandering round the shores of the lake searching for his heart, and with his breast cut open, just as the priest had left it. It's not more than a year ago that some one saw this Indian, and just about here, too, on the southern shore of the lake."

As Zefirino finished his narration, his two companions involuntarily cast glances of terror towards the gloomy waters of the lake, as if in dread that the legendary Indian might suddenly show himself. Just at that moment, a rustling among the leaves caused all three of them to start to their feet, and stand trembling with fear.

Their alarm did not last long; for almost immediately after they perceived that the noise had been caused by Castrillo, the guide--who, in the next moment, stepped forward into the glade.

"Well, Castrillo! what have you seen?" demanded his fellow-servants.

"Enough to make it necessary that I should at once communicate with our master," and Castrillo passed on towards the _litera_, leaving his companions to form their conjectures about what he had seen as best they might.

CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE.

THE INVALID.

On perceiving the approach of the domestico, Don Mariano silently closed the curtains of the _litera_, in order that the slumbers of Gertrudis might not be disturbed.

"Speak softly!" said he to the man, "my daughter is asleep."

The domestic delivered his report in an undertone.

"I have been almost as far as the hacienda of San Carlos," said he. "The road to the house is clear; and I should have gone up to it, but for the strange sights which I saw there."

"Strange sight! what sights, Castrillo?"

"Oh, master! I can hardly tell you what I saw--at least I cannot explain it. The windows were all lit up, but with such lights! They were blue and red, and of a purple colour, and they appeared to be changing every instant, and moving about in the most mysterious manner. While I stood looking at them, and trying to think what it could mean, I saw a figure in white gliding past me in the darkness, like some one not of this world."

"My worthy Castrillo, fear was troubling your senses, I am afraid you only fancied these things?"

"Oh, my master! what I saw was but too real. If you had seen these lights as I, you could not have doubted it. May it please God that I may have been deceived!"

The tone of conviction in which the servant delivered his report produced its effect on Don Mariano; and he could not help feeling the unpleasant presentiment that some grand misfortune had happened to his daughter, Marianita, or her husband.

The information brought by Castrillo was only the reawakening of a doubt that had been already oppressing him.

A prey to afflicting thoughts, he remained for a while in that state of silent uncertainty which follows the receipt of calamitous news. The servant having finished his report had joined his three companions, and Don Mariano was alone.

Just then the curtains of the _litera_ were drawn inside by a hand from within, and the voice of Gertrudis interrupted for the moment his gloomy reflections.

"My sleep has refreshed me," said the young girl; "do you intend soon to continue your journey, father? It is near daybreak, is it not?"

"It is not yet midnight, nina. It will be long before the day breaks."

"Then why do you not go to sleep, dear father? We are in safety here, I think; and there is no reason why you should keep awake."

"Dear Gertrudis, I do not desire to sleep until we are under the roof of Marianita, and I can see you both together."

"Ah! Marianita is so very happy," sighed the invalid. "Her life has been like one of the flowery paths we have been following through the forest."

"And so will yours be yet, Gertrudis," rejoined Don Mariano, with an effort to console her. "It will not be long before Don Rafael comes to see you."

"Oh, yes! I know he will come, since he has sworn it upon his word of honour. He will come, but what then?" murmured Gertrudis, with a melancholy smile.

"He will arrive to tell you that he still loves you," said Don Mariano, affecting a conviction which, in reality, he did not feel. "It is only a misunderstanding," he added.

"A misunderstanding that causes death, dear father," rejoined Gertrudis, as she turned her head upon the pillow to conceal her tears.

Don Mariano was unable to reply, and an interval of silence succeeded.

Then Gertrudis, by one of those sudden reactions common to invalids, seemed all at once inspired with a fresh hope, and raising her head, she inquired--

"Do you think the messenger has had time to reach Don Rafael?"

"He would be three days in getting from Oajaca to the hacienda Del Valle; and if Don Rafael, as we have since heard, is at Huajapam, in two days more the messenger should reach him. He has been gone four days; therefore, in four more, at the most, Don Rafael should arrive at San Carlos, where he will know we are awaiting him."

"Four days!" murmured Gertrudis. "Oh! it is a long, long time!"

Gertrudis did not dare to add, what she feared at the moment, that her life might not last so long.

After a moment of silence she continued--

"And besides, when, with a blush upon my cheeks, and my eyes turned away, I hear Don Rafael say to me, `You have sent for me, Gertrudis, I have come,' what answer can I make? Oh, father! I shall die of grief and shame; for I shall then feel that he no longer loves me. He will see me as I am--a ruin--only the shadow of my former self, with my health gone, and my freshness faded. Likely enough, generosity will prompt him to feign a love which he does not feel, and which I could not believe in. What proof could he give that his words would only be spoken out of compassion for me?"

"Who can tell?" said Don Mariano. "Perhaps he may give you some proof that you cannot help believing in his sincerity."

"Do not wish it, father, if you love me; for if he should offer a proof I cannot refuse to believe in, I feel that I should die of joy. Poor father!" continued she, with a choking sigh, and throwing her arms round his neck, "in either case you are likely soon to have but one daughter."

At this mournful declaration Don Mariano could no longer restrain his grief; and returning the embrace of Gertrudis, he mingled his tears with hers. Both wept aloud, their voices being audible to the _centzontle_, on a neighbouring tree--that catching up the mournful tones repeated them to the ear of night.

Just then the moon shot out from behind a thick mass of clouds, that had hitherto been shrouding her from the sight; and the landscape, illuminated by her silvery light, all at once assumed a less lugubrious aspect.

The lake, as well as the forest on its shores, appeared less sombre; and the corrugated flanks of the enchanted hill glanced with a vitreous reflection like the greenish waves of an agitated sea. Upon the surface of the water could be seen the dark, hideous forms of huge alligators moving along the edge of the reeds, and now and then giving utterance to their deep bellowing notes, as they disported themselves under the light of the moon.

The domestics of Don Mariano, seated close together, more than once fancied that they could distinguish the voices of human beings, and all shivered with fear as they recalled the legend which Zefirino had just related.

"I wish, comrades," said one of them, speaking in a tone of subdued terror, "I wish that this night was well over. From the noises we have heard, and those strange lights that Castrillo has seen, one might fancy some terrible misfortune was to happen to-night! It only wants the scream of an owl from one of the trees around here, and then we may pray for the soul of our poor young mistress."

At that moment a voice--this time certainly a human voice--proceeding from the direction of the lake, interrupted the speaker. It seemed to arise out of the bosom of the water.

The four domestics started, and sat regarding each other with looks of affright. There could be no doubt of its being a human voice which they had heard, as if intoning a song or chaunt, but uttered in some unknown tongue--such as that in which the ancient Indians used to converse with their divinities.

"Santissima madre!" muttered one of the domestics, "what if it should be the Indian who searches for his heart?"

His companions made no other answer than by nodding their heads to signify that such had been the thought of each.

At this moment another noise reached them. It was a rustling as of leaves, and almost simultaneously they saw the figure of a man making his way through the reeds that grew by the edge of the water.

In the clear light of the moon they could see that the man was completely naked, and that his skin was of a bronze or copper colour--in other words, that he was an Indian.

As he passed through the reeds he parted their stems with his outstretched arms--at the same time keeping his eyes bent downwards as if searching for something.

After reaching the edge of the open water, he plunged in; and, swimming vigorously out into the lake, appeared to direct himself towards the enchanted hill.

"God of heaven!" muttered Zefirino, in an accent of terror. "It is the Indian searching for his heart!"

CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR.

AN AERIAL COUCH.

After escaping from the company of Arroyo and his bandits, Don Cornelio mechanically followed the guidance of Costal--who was now aiming to reach the lake of Ostuta as soon as possible, in order that he might commence his incantations before the rising of the moon.

Don Cornelio knew that it would be breath thrown away to attempt persuading the Indian to abandon his absurd and superstitious design; and to propose accompanying him, and becoming either actor or spectator in the pagan ceremony, would be equally against the wishes of Costal.

After they had ridden for some distance towards the lake, the Captain admonished his companions of his intention to stay behind and wait for their return, after they should have accomplished their purpose, and had their interview with Tlaloc and his wife Matlacuezc. Costal was only too glad to agree to this proposition; and promised to find a proper halting-place for Don Cornelio at some distance from the shores of the lake. There was no house of any kind in the vicinity, not even the meanest hut. This, Costal, from his perfect knowledge of the locality, was aware of; but the night was a pleasant one, and a few hours might be passed in the open air without any great inconvenience.

Shortly after, the cool freshness of the breeze proclaimed that the lake was not far off; and a pleasant grove of shady palm-trees offered an inviting shelter to Don Cornelio. It was the spot which Costal had designed for his halting-place; and here, parting from the two acolytes, the Captain dismounted, and prepared to make himself as comfortable as possible during their absence. Meanwhile Costal and Clara kept on towards the lake, and were soon lost to view under the shadows of the forest.

Don Cornelio had not been long left to himself, ere he began to rue the disposition thus made of him. It now occurred to him, and not without reason, that the comrades of Gaspacho might fancy to avenge the brigand's death, and for that purpose follow him and his two attendants through the forest. Arroyo would now be absent from the hacienda; Don Cornelio had heard him proclaim his intention of going in search of its mistress; and his subalterns might pay less respect to the emissary of Morelos than their chief.

These considerations influencing the spirit of Don Cornelio, produced within him a certain degree of uneasiness--sufficient to make him discontented with the position he had chosen.

Determined to get nearer to Costal--whom he looked upon almost as his natural protector--he remounted his horse, and continued along the path that had been taken by the other two.

After riding a few hundred yards, he discerned rising up before his face a high hill crowned with mist; and shortly after, the woods becoming more open, he was enabled to perceive that this hill was surrounded by a large lake of dark, sombre aspect. Though he now looked upon both the lake and mountain for the first time, he had no difficulty in identifying them as the Lake Ostuta and the sacred mountain of Monopostiac.

A belt of forest still lay between him and the lake, extending around its southern end. Entering into the timber, he rode nearly across it, until the reedy shore of the lake came in view through the openings between the trees. Here he again halted, and after a moment's reflection, dismounted.

Although the change of locality might make it more difficult for the brigands of Arroyo to discover his retreat, he was still not so certain of being free from danger. To render his situation more secure, he determined upon climbing into a tree, and concealing himself among the branches.