The White Chief: A Legend of Northern Mexico Read online

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

  During all this time Vizcarra lay groaning upon his couch--not so muchwith pain as fear, for the fear of death still haunted him. But forthat, his rage would have been boundless; but this passion was inabeyance--eclipsed by the terrors that flitted across his conscience.

  Even had he been assured of recovery he would still have been in dread.His imagination was diseased by his dream and the after reality. Evensurrounded by his soldiers, he feared the cibolero, who appeared able toaccomplish any deed and escape its consequences. He did not even feelsecure there in his chamber, with guards at the entrance, against thatavenging arm!

  Now, more than ever, he was desirous of getting rid of the cause--morethan ever anxious that she should be got rid of; but he reflected thatnow more than ever was that a delicate and difficult matter. It wouldundoubtedly get abroad _why_ the cibolero had made such a desperateattempt upon his life--it would spread until it reached high quarters--such a report could not be passed over--an investigation might beordered; and that, unless he could destroy every trace of suspicion,might be his ruin.

  These were his reflections while in the belief that he was going torecover; when a doubt of this crossed his mind, he grew still moreanxious about the result.

  Roblado had hinted at a way in which all might be arranged. He waitedwith impatience for the latter to make his appearance. The warlikecaptain was still engaged in beating the chapparal; but Gomez had comein and reported that he was about to give up the search, and return tothe Presidio.

  To Roblado the occurrences of the day had been rather pleasant thanotherwise; and a close observer of his conduct could have told this. Ifthere was anything in the whole business that really annoyed him, it wasthe wound of the Comandante--it was exasperating! Roblado, moreexperienced than the surgeon, knew this well. The friendship thatexisted between the two was a fellow-feeling in wickedness--a sort offelon's bond--durable enough so long as there was no benefit to eitherin breaking it. But this friendship did not prevent Roblado fromregretting with all his heart that the bullet had not hit _his friend_ alittle higher up or a little lower down--either in the skull or thethroat! He entertained this regret from no malice or ill-will towardsthe Comandante, but simply from a desire to benefit himself. It waslong since Roblado had been dreaming of promotion. He was not toohumble to hope he might one day command the Presidio himself.Vizcarra's death would have given him that station at once; but Vizcarrawas not to die just then, and this knowledge somewhat clouded the joy hewas then experiencing.

  And it was joy. Garcia and he had been enemies. There had beenjealousy and ill-will between them for long; therefore the lieutenant'sdeath was no source of regret to him. But the joy of Roblado owedpartly its origin to another consequence of that day's drama--one thataffected him more than any--one that was nearest his heart and hishopes.

  Absurd as appeared the pretensions of the cibolero in regard toCatalina, Roblado had learned enough of late to make him jealous--ay,even to give him real uneasiness. She was a strange creature, Catalinade Cruces--one who had shown proofs of a rare spirit--one not to bebought and sold like a _bulto_ of goods. She had taught both her fatherand Roblado a lesson of late. She had taught them that. She had struckthe ground with her little foot, and threatened a convent--the grave--iftoo rudely pressed! She had not rejected Roblado--that is, in word; butshe insisted on having _her own time to make answer_; and Don Ambrosiowas compelled to concede the point.

  Under such circumstances her suitor felt uneasy. Not so much that hewas jealous--though he did love her after his own fashion, and waspiqued at the thought of such a rival--but he feared that spirit ofhers, and dreaded that her splendid fortune might yet escape him. Sucha woman was capable of the wildest resolve. She _might_ take to aconvent; or maybe _to the plains_ with this base-born cibolero! Such anevent in the life of such a woman would be neither impossible norunlikely. In either case she could not take her fortune with her; butwhat mattered? it would not remain with him, Roblado.

  The conduct of the cibolero had removed all obstacles, so far as he wasconcerned. There was no longer any dread of rivalry from that source.His life was now forfeited. Not only would he be cut off from allcommunication with her, but he would not dare to show himself in thesettlement. A constant vigilance would be kept on foot to guard againstthat, and Roblado even promised himself the enjoyment of rare sport inhunting down his rival, and becoming at the same time his captor andexecutioner.

  These were the ideas that crossed the mind of the savage captain, andthat made him feel satisfied at the events of the day.

  After scouring the chapparal, and following the track of the supposedIndians to the ceja of the table plain, he returned with his men to thePresidio, to make preparations for a more prolonged pursuit.