The White Chief: A Legend of Northern Mexico Page 34

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

  During the conversation that had taken place the cibolero sat,motionless upon his horse where he had first halted. The two officerswere no longer in view, as they had stepped back upon the azotea, andthe high parapet concealed them. But Carlos guessed the object of theirtemporary retirement, and waited patiently.

  The group of soldiers, lounging in the gateway, and scanning him and hishorse, now amounted to thirty or forty men; but the bugle, sounding thewell-known call, summoned them off to the stables, and the sentry aloneremained by the gate. Both he and the soldiers, having overheard thelast conversation, guessed the object of the summons. Carlos feltassured that his request was about to be granted, though as yet theComandante had not told him.

  Up to that moment the cibolero had conceived no fixed plan of action.How could he, where so much depended on chance?

  Only one idea was before his mind that could be called definite--thatwas _to get Vizcarra alone_. If but for a single minute, it wouldsuffice.

  Entreaty, he felt, would be idle, and might waste time and end in hisown defeat and death. A minute would be enough for vengeance; and withthe thoughts of his sister's ruin fresh on his mind, he was burning forthis. To anything after he scarce gave a thought. For escape, hetrusted to chance and his own superior energy.

  Up to that moment, then, he had conceived no fixed plan of action. Ithad just occurred to him that the Comandante himself might lead theparty going out. If so he would take no immediate step. While actingas guide, his opportunity would be excellent--not only for destroyinghis enemy, but for his own escape. Once on the wide plains, he wouldhave no fear of ten times the number of lancers. His true steed wouldcarry him far beyond their reach.

  The troop was going. The bugle told him so. Would Vizcarra go with it?That was the question that now engrossed his thoughts, as he satimmobile on his horse, regarding with anxious look the line of theparapet above.

  Once more the hated face appeared over the wall--this time to announcewhat the Comandante believed would be glad news to his wretchedpetitioner. With all the pompous importance of one who grants a greatfavour he announced it.

  A gleam of joy shot over the features of the cibolero--not at theannouncement, though Vizcarra thought so; but at his observation of thefact that the latter seemed to be now _alone upon the azotea_.Roblado's face was not above the wall.

  "It is exceedingly gracious of your excellency to grant this favour toan humble individual like myself. I know not how to thank you."

  "No thanks--no thanks: an officer of his Catholic Majesty wants nothanks for doing his duty."

  As the Comandante said this, he waved his hand with proud dignity, andseemed about to retire backward. Carlos interrupted his intention byputting a question: "Am I to have the honour of acting as guide to yourexcellency?"

  "No; I do not go myself on this expedition; but my best officer, CaptainRoblado, will lead it. He is now getting ready. You may wait for him."

  As Vizcarra said this, he turned abruptly away from the wall, andcontinued his promenade along the azotea. No doubt he felt ill at easein a _tete-a-tete_ with the cibolero, and was glad to end it. Why hehad condescended to give all this information need not be inquired into;but it was just what the cibolero desired to know.

  The latter saw that the time was come--not a moment was to be lost, and,quick as thought, he resolved himself for action.

  Up to this moment he had remained in his saddle. His rifle--its buttresting in the stirrup, its barrel extending up to his shoulder--hadbeen seen by no one. The "_armas de aqua_" covering his legs, and theserape his shoulders, had completely concealed it. In addition to this,his sharp hunting-knife, strapped along his left thigh, escapedobservation under the hanging corner of the serape. These were his onlyweapons.

  During the short conversation between the Comandante and Roblado he hadnot been idle, though apparently so. He had made a full reconnaissanceof the walls. He saw that out of the saguan, or gateway, an escalera ofstone steps led up to the azotea. This communication was intended forthe soldiers, when any duty required them to mount to the roof; butCarlos knew that there was another escalera, by which the officersascended: and although he had never been inside the Presidio, he rightlyconjectured that this was at the adjacent end of the building. He hadobserved, too, that but one sentry was posted at the gate, and that thestone banquette, inside the saguan, used as a lounging-place by theguard, was at the moment unoccupied. The guard were either inside thehouse, or had strayed away to their quarters. In fact, the disciplineof the place was of the loosest kind. Vizcarra, though a dandy himself,was no martinet with his men. His time was too much taken up with hisown pleasures to allow him to care for aught else.

  All these points had passed under the keen observation of the cibolerobefore Vizcarra returned to announce his intention of sending the troop.He had scarce parted out of sight the second time ere the former hadtaken his measures.

  Silently dismounting from his horse, Carlos left the animal standingwhere he had halted him. He did not fasten him to either rail or post,but simply hooked the bridle-rein over the "horn" of the saddle. Heknow that his well-trained steed would await him there.

  His rifle he still carried under his serape, though the butt was nowvisible below the edge, pressed closely against the calf of his leg. Inthis way he walked forward to the gate.

  One doubt troubled him--would the sentry permit him to pass in? If not,the sentry must die!

  This resolve was quickly made; and the cibolero under his serape kepthis grasp on the handle of his hunting-knife as he approached the gate.

  The attempt was made to pass through. Fortunately for Carlos, and forthe sentry as well, it was successful. The latter--a slouching,careless fellow--had heard the late conversation, and had no suspicionof the other's design. He made some feeble opposition, notwithstanding;but Carlos hastily replied that he had something to say to theComandante, who had beckoned him up to the azotea. This but halfsatisfied the fellow, who, however, reluctantly allowed him to pass.

  Once inside, Carlos sprang to the steps, and glided up with the stealthysilent tread of a cat. So little noise had his moccasins made upon thestones, that, when he arrived upon the roof, its occupant--althoughstanding but six feet from the head of the escalera--was not aware ofhis presence!

  There was he--Vizcarra himself--the despot--the despoiler--the violatorof a sister's innocence and honour--there was he within six feet of theavenging brother--six feet from the muzzle of his ready rifle, and stillignorant of the terrible situation! His face was turned in an oppositedirection--he saw not his peril.

  The glance of the cibolero rested upon him but an instant, and thenswept the walls to ascertain if any one was above. He knew there weretwo sentries on the towers. They were not visible--they were on theouter walls and could not be seen from Carlos's position. No one elsewas above. His enemy alone was there, and his glance again rested uponhim.

  Carlos could have sent the bullet into his back, and such a thoughtcrossed his mind, but was gone in an instant. He had come to take theman's life, but not in that manner. Even prudence suggested a betterplan. His knife would be more silent, and afford him a safer chance ofescape when the deed was done! With this idea, he brought the butt ofhis rifle gently to the ground, and rested its barrel against theparapet. The iron coming in contact with the stone wall gave a tinyclink. Slight as it was, it reached the ear of the Comandante, whowheeled suddenly round, and started at the sight of the intruder.

  At first he exhibited anger, but the countenance of the cibolero, thathad undergone a complete metamorphosis during the short interval, soonchanged his anger into alarm.

  "How dare you intrude, sir?--how dare--"

  "Not so loud, colonel!--not so loud--you will be heard!"

  The low husky voice, and the firm tone of command, in which they wereuttered, terrified the cowardly wretch to whom these words wereaddressed. He saw that the man who sto
od before him bore in his faceand attitude the expression of desperate and irresistible resolve, thatplainly said, "Disobey, and you are a dead man!" This expression washeightened by the gleaming blade of a long knife, whose haft was firmlygrasped by the hand of the cibolero.

  At sight of those demonstrations, Vizcarra turned white with terror. Henow comprehended what was meant. The asking for the troop had been buta subterfuge to get near his own person! The cibolero had tracked him;his guilt was known, and the brother was now come to demand redress orhave vengeance! The horrors of his night-dream returned, now minglingwith the horrors of the fearful reality before him.

  He scarce knew what to say--he could scarce speak. He looked wildlyaround in hopes of seeing some help. Not a face or form was in sight--nothing but the grey walls, and before him the frowning face of histerrible antagonist. He would have called for help; but that face--thatangry attitude--told him that the shout would be his last. He gaspedout at length--

  "What want you?"

  "_I want my sister_!"

  "Your sister?"

  "My sister!"

  "Carlos--I know not--she is not here--I--"

  "Liar! she is within these walls. See! yonder the dog howls by thedoor. Why is that?"

  Carlos pointed to a door in the lower part of the building, where thedog Cibolo was at that moment seen, whining and making otherdemonstrations, as if he wanted to get inside! A soldier wasendeavouring to drive him off.

  Vizcarra looked mechanically as directed. He saw the dog. He saw thesoldier too; but dared not make a signal to him. The keen blade wasgleaming before his eyes. The question of the cibolero was repeated.

  "Why is that?"

  "I--I--know not--"

  "Liar again! She has gone in by that door. Where is she now? Quick,tell me!"

  "I declare, I know not. Believe me--"

  "False villain! she is here. I have tracked you through all yourpaths--your tricks have not served you. Deny her once more, and this toyour heart. She is here!--Where--where--I say?"

  "Oh! do not murder me. I shall tell all. She--she--is--here. I swearI have not wronged her; I swear I have not--"

  "Here, ruffian--stand at this point--close to the wall here.--Quick!"

  The cibolero had indicated a spot from which part of the patio, orcourtyard, was visible. His command was instantly obeyed, for thecraven Comandante saw that certain death was the alternative.

  "Now give orders that she be brought forth! You know to whom she isintrusted. Be cool and calm, do you hear? Any sign to your minions,either word or gesture, and this knife will pass through your ribs!Now!"

  "O my God!--my God!--it would ruin me--all would know--ruin--ruin--Ipray you--have mercy--have patience!--She shall be restored to you--Iswear it--this very night!"

  "This very moment, villain! Quick--proceed--all those who know--let herbe brought forth!--quick--I am on fire--one moment more--"

  "O Heaven! you will murder me--a moment--Stay!--Ha!"

  The last exclamation was in a different tone from the rest. It was ashout of exultation--of triumph!

  The face of the Comandante was turned towards the escalera by whichCarlos had ascended, while that of the latter looked in the oppositedirection. Carlos, therefore, did not perceive that a third person hadreached the roof, until he felt his upraised right arm grasped by astrong hand, and held back! He wrenched his arm free--turning as he didso--when he found himself face to face with a man whom he recognised asthe Lieutenant Garcia.

  "I have no quarrel with _you_," cried the cibolero; "keep away from me."

  The officer, without saying a word, had drawn a pistol, and waslevelling it at his head. Carlos rushed upon him.

  The report rang, and for a moment the smoke shrouded both Garcia and thecibolero. One was heard to fall heavily on the tiles, and the nextmoment the other sprang from the cloud evidently unhurt.

  It was the cibolero who came forth; and his knife, still in his grasp,was reeking with blood!

  He rushed forward towards the spot where he had parted with theComandante, but the latter was gone! He was some distance off on theazotea, and running towards the private stairway.

  Carlos saw at a glance he could not overtake him before he should reachthe escalera, and make his descent; and to follow him below would now beuseless, for the shot had given the alarm.

  There was a moment of despair,--a short moment; for in the next a brightthought rushed into the mind of the cibolero--he remembered his rifle.There might be still time to overtake the Comandante with that.

  He seized the weapon, and, springing beyond the circle of smoke, raisedit to his shoulder.

  Vizcarra had reached the stairway, and was already sinking into itstrap-like entrance. His head and shoulders alone appeared above theline of wall, when some half-involuntary thought induced him to stop andlook back. The coward had partly got over his fright now that he hadarrived within reach of succour, and he glanced back from a feeling ofcuriosity, to see if the struggle between Garcia and the cibolero wasyet over. He meant to stop only for an instant, but just as he turnedhis head the rifle cracked, and the bullet sent him tumbling to thebottom of the escalera!

  The cibolero saw that his shot had taken effect--he saw, moreover, thatthe other was dead--he heard the wild shouts of vengeance from below;and he knew that unless he could escape by flight he would be surroundedand pierced by an hundred lances.

  His first thought was to descend by the escalera, up which he had come.The other way only led into the patio, already filling with men. Heleaped over the body of Garcia, and ran toward the stairway.

  A crowd of armed men was coming up. His escape was cut off!

  Again he crossed the dead body, and, running along the azotea, sprangupon the outer parapet and looked below.

  It was a fearful leap to take, but there was no other hope of escaping.Several lancers had reached the roof, and were charging forward withtheir pointed weapons. Already carbines were ringing, and bulletswhistling about his ears. It was no time to hesitate. His eye fellupon his brave horse, as he stood proudly curving his neck and champingthe bit, "Thank Heaven, he is yet alive!"

  Nerved by the sight, Carlos dropped down from the wall, and reached theground without injury. A shrill whistle brought his steed to his side,and the next moment the cibolero had sprung into the saddle, and wasgalloping out into the open plain!

  Bullets hissed after, and men mounted in hot pursuit; but before theycould spur their horses out of the gateway, Carlos had reached the edgeof the chapparal, and disappeared under the leafy screen of its thickfoliage.

  A body of lancers, with Roblado and Gomez at their head, rode after. Asthey approached the edge of the chapparal, to their astonishment a scoreof heads appeared above the bushes, and a wild yell hailed theiradvance!

  "Indios bravos! los barbaros!" cried the lancers, halting, while some ofthem wheeled back in alarm.

  A general halt was made, and the pursuers waited until reinforcementsshould come up. The whole garrison turned out, and the chapparal wassurrounded, and at length entered. But no Indians could be found,though the tracks of their animals led through the thicket in everydirection.

  After beating about for several hours, Roblado and his troopers returnedto the Presidio.