by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
Vizcarra and his gay lancers passed up the valley, on their return fromthe pursuit at an early hour of the evening.
Scarcely had a short hour elapsed when another cavalcade, dusty andwayworn, was seen moving along the same road, and heading towards thesettlements. It could hardly be termed a cavalcade, as it consisted ofan atajo of pack-mules, with some carretas drawn by oxen. One man onlywas on horseback, who, by his dress and manner, could be recognised asthe owner of the atajo.
Despite the fatigue of a long march, despite the coating of dust whichcovered both horse and rider, it was not difficult to tell who thehorseman was. Carlos the cibolero!
Thus far had he reached on his homeward way. Another stretch of fivemiles along the dusty road, and it would halt before the door of hishumble rancho. Another hour, and his aged mother, his fond sister,would fling themselves into his arms, and receive his affectionateembrace!
What a surprise it would be! They would not be expecting him forweeks--long weeks.
And what a surprise he had for them in another way! His wonderful luck!The superb mulada and cargo,--quite a little fortune indeed! Rositashould have a new dress,--not a coarse woollen nagua, but one of silk,real foreign silk, and a manta, and the prettiest pair of satinslippers--she should wear fine stockings on future fiesta days--sheshould be worthy of his friend Don Juan. His old mother, too--sheshould drink tea, coffee, or chocolate, which she preferred--no more_atole_ for her!
The rancho was rude and old--it should come down, and another and betterone go up in its place--no--it would serve as a stable for the horse,and the new rancho should be built beside it. In fact, the sale of hismulada would enable him to buy a good strip of land, and stock it welltoo.
What was to hinder him to turn ranchero, and farm or graze on his ownaccount? It would be far more respectable, and would give him a higherstanding in the settlement. Nothing to hinder him. He would do so; butfirst one more journey to the plains--one more visit to his Wacofriends, who had promised him--Ha! it was this very promise that was thekeystone of all his hopes.
The silk dress for Rosita, the luxuries for his old mother, the newhouse, the farm, were all pleasant dreams to Carlos; but he indulged adream of a still pleasanter nature--a dream that eclipsed them all; andhis hopes of its realisation lay in that one more visit to the countryof the Wacoes.
Carlos believed that his poverty alone was the barrier that separatedhim from Catalina. He knew that her father was not, properly speaking,one of the "rico" class. True, he was a rico now: but only a few yearsago he had been a poor "gambucino"--poor as Carlos himself. In fact,they had once been nearer neighbours; and in his earlier days DonAmbrosio had esteemed the boy Carlos fit company for the littleCatalina.
What objection, then, could he have to the cibolero--provided the lattercould match him in fortune? "Certainly none," thought Carlos. "If Ican prove to him that I, too, am a `rico,' he will consent to mymarrying Catalina. And why not? The blood in my veins--so says mymother--is as good as that of any hidalgo. And, if the Wacoes have toldme the truth, one more journey and Carlos the cibolero will be able toshew as much gold as Don Ambrosio the miner!"
These thoughts had been running in his mind throughout the whole of hishomeward journey. Every day--every hour--did he build his aery castles;every hour did he buy the silk dress for Rosita--the tea, coffee, andchocolate for his mother; every hour did he erect the new rancho, buythe farm, show a fortune in gold-dust, and demand Catalina from herfather! _Chateaux en Espagne_!
Now that he was close to his home, these pleasant visions grew brighterand seemed nearer; and the countenance of the cibolero was radiant withjoy. What a fearful change was soon to pass over it!
Several times he thought of spurring on in advance, the sooner to enjoythe luxury of his mother's and sister's welcome; and then he changed hismind again.
"No," muttered he to himself; "I will stay by the atajo. I will betterenjoy the triumph. We shall all march up in line, and halt in front ofthe rancho. They will think I have some stranger with me, to whombelong the mules! When I announce them as my own they will fancy that Ihave turned Indian, and made a _raid_ on the southern provinces, with mystout retainers. Ha! ha! ha!" And Carlos laughed at the conceit.
"Poor little Rosy!" he continued; "she _shall_ marry Don Juan this time!I won't withhold my consent any longer? It would be better, too. He'sa bold fellow, and can protect her while I'm off on the plains again:though one more journey, and I have done with the plains. One morejourney, and I shall change my title from Carlos the cibolero to SenorDon Carlos R--, Ha! ha! ha!"
Again he laughed at the prospect of becoming a "rico," and beingaddressed as "Don Carlos."
"Very odd," thought he, "I don't meet anyone. I don't see a soul uponthe road up or down. Yet it's not late--the sun's above the bluffstill. Where can the people be? And yet the road's covered thick withfresh horse-tracks! Ha! the troops have been here! they have justpassed up! But that's no reason why the people are not abroad; and Idon't see even a straggler! Now I could have believed there was analarm of Indians had I not seen these tracks; but I know very well that,were the Apaches on their war-trail, my Comandante and his Whiskerandoswould never have ventured so far from the Presidio--that I know.
"Well, there's something extraordinary! I can't make it out. Perhapsthey're all up to the town at some fiesta. Anton, my boy, you know allthe feast-days! Is this one?"
"No, master."
"And where are all the folks?"
"Can't guess, master! Strange we don't see some!"
"So I was thinking. You don't suppose there have been wild Indians inthe neighbourhood?"
"No, master--_mira_! They're the tracks of the `lanzeros'--only an hourago. No Indians where they are!"
As Antonio said this, both his accent and look had an expression whichguided his master to the true meaning of his words, which mightotherwise have been ambiguous. He did not mean that the fact of thelancers having been on the ground would prevent the Indians fromoccupying it, but exactly the reverse. It was, not "lancers noIndians," but "Indians no lancers," that Antonio meant.
Carlos understood him; and, as this had been his own interpretation ofthe tracks, he burst out into a fit of laughter.
Still no travellers appeared, and Carlos did not like it. As yet he hadnot thought of any misfortune to those he loved; but the unpeopled roadhad an air of loneliness about it, and did not seem to welcome him.
As he passed on a feeling of sadness came stealing over him, which afterit had fairly taken possession he could not get rid of.
He had not yet passed a settlement. There were none before reaching hisown rancho, which, as already stated, was the lowest in the valley.Still the inhabitants fed their flocks far below that; and it was usual,at such an hour, to see them driving their cattle home. He neither sawcattle nor vaqueros.
The meadows on both sides, where cattle used to graze, were empty! Whatcould it mean?
As he noticed these things an indefinite sense of uneasiness and alarmbegan to creep over him; and this feeling increased until he had arrivedat the turning which led to his own rancho.
At length he headed around the forking angle of the road; and havingpassed the little coppices of evergreen oaks, came within sight of thehouse. With a mechanical jerk he drew his horse upon his haunches, andsat in the saddle with open jaw and eyes glaring and protruded.
The rancho he could not see--for the covering interposal columns of thecacti--but through the openings along their tops a black line wasvisible that had an unnatural look, and a strange film of smoke hungover the azotea!
"God of heaven! what can it mean?" cried he, with a choking voice; but,without waiting to answer himself, he lanced the flanks of his horsetill the animal shot off like an arrow.
The intervening ground was passed; and, flinging himself from thesaddle, the cibolero rushed through the cactus-fence.
The atajo soon af
ter came up. Antonio hurried through: and there,inside the hot, smoke-blackened walls, half-seated, half-lying on thebanqueta, was his master, his head hanging forward upon his breast, andboth hands nervously twisted in the long curls of his hair.
Antonio's foot-fall caused him to look up--only for a moment.
"O God! My mother--my sister!" And, as he repeated the words, his headonce more fell forward, while his broad breast rose and fell inconvulsed heaving. It was an hour of mortal agony; for some secretinstinct had revealed to him the terrible truth.