by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER FORTY THREE.
It was near sunset. The yellow orb was hastening to kiss the snowysummit of the Sierra Blanca, that barred the western horizon. The whitemantle, that draped the shoulders of the mountain, reflected beautifulroseate tints deepening into red and purple in the hollows of theravines, and seeming all the more lovely from the contrast of the darkforests that covered the Sierra farther down.
It was a sunset more brilliant than common. The western sky was filledwith masses of coloured clouds, in which gold and purple and ceruleanblue mingled together in gorgeous magnificence; and in which the eye ofthe beholder could not fail to note the outlines of strange forms, andfancy them bright and glorious beings of another world. It was apicture to gladden the eye, to give joy to the heart that was sad, andmake happier the happy.
It was not unobserved. Eyes were dwelling upon it--beautiful eyes; andyet there was a sadness in their look that ill accorded with the pictureon which they were gazing.
But those eyes were not drawing their inspiration from the sky-paintingbefore them. Though apparently regarding it, the thoughts which gavethem expression were drawn from a far different source. The heartwithin was dwelling upon another object.
The owner of those eyes was a beautiful girl, or rather a fullydeveloped woman still unmarried. She was standing upon the azotea of anoble mansion, apparently regarding the rich sunset, while, in reality,her thoughts were busy with another theme, and one that was lesspleasant to contemplate. Even the brilliant glow of the sky, reflectedupon her countenance, did not dissipate the shadows that were passingover it. The clouds from within overcame the light from without. Therewere shadows flitting over her heart that corresponded to those thatdarkened her fair face.
It was a beautiful face withal, and a beautiful form--tall, majestic, ofsoft graces and waving outlines. The lady was Catalina de Cruces.
She was alone upon the azotea--surrounded only by the plants andflowers. Bending over the low parapet that overlooked the garden to therear, she at the same time faced toward the sinking orb,--for the gardenextended westward.
Now and then her eyes were lifted to the sky and the sun; but oftenerthey sought the shaded coppice of wild-china-trees at the bottom of theenclosure, through whose slender trunks gleamed the silvery surface ofthe stream. Upon this spot they rested from time to time, with anexpression of strange interest. No wonder that to those eyes that wasan interesting spot--it was that where love's first vows had beenuttered in her delighted ear--it had been consecrated by a kiss, and inher thoughts it was hallowed from the "earth's profound" to the highheaven above her. No wonder she regarded it as the fairest on earth.The most famed gardens of the world--even Paradise itself--in herimagination, had no spot so sweet, no nook so shady, as the littlearbour she had herself trained amid the foliage of thosewild-china-trees.
Why was she regarding it with a look of sadness? In that very arbour,and on that very night, did she expect to meet him--the one who hadrendered it sacred. Why then was she sad? Such a prospect should haverendered her countenance radiant with joy.
And so was it, at intervals, when this thought came into her mind; butthere was another--some other thought--that brought those clouds uponher brow, and imparted that air of uneasy apprehension. What was thatthought?
In her hand she held a bandolon. She flung herself upon a bench, andbegan to play some old Spanish air. The effort was too much for her.Her thoughts wandered from the melody, and her fingers from the strings.
She laid down the instrument, and, again rising to her feet, pacedbackwards and forwards upon the azotea. Her walk was irregular. Atintervals she stopped, and, lowering her eyes, seemed to think intentlyon something that was absent. Then she would start forward, and stopagain in the same manner as before. This she repeated several times,without uttering either word or exclamation.
Once she continued her walk all around the azotea, casting ascrutinising look among the plants and flower-pots on both sides, as ifin search of something; but whatever it was, she was unsuccessful, asnothing appeared to arrest her attention.
She returned once more, and took up the bandolon. But her fingers hadhardly touched the strings before she laid the instrument down again,and rose from the bench, as if some sudden resolution had takenpossession of her.
"I never thought of that--I may have dropped it in the garden!" shemuttered to herself, as she glided toward a small escalera that led downinto the patio.
From this point an avenue communicated with the garden; and the nextmoment she had passed through this and was tripping over the sandedwalks, bending from side to side, and peeping behind every plant andbush that could have concealed the object of her search.
She explored every part of the enclosure, and lingered a moment in thearbour among the china-trees--as if she enjoyed that spot more than anyother--but she came back at length with the same anxious expression,that told she was not rewarded by the recovery of whatever she had lost.
The lady once more returned to the azotea--once more took up thebandolon; but after a few touches of the strings, laid it down, andagain rose to her feet. Again she soliloquised.
"_Carrambo_! it is very strange!--neither in my chamber--the sala, thecuarto, the azotea, the garden!--where can it be? O Dios! if it shouldfall into the hands of papa! It is too intelligible--it could not failto be understood--no--no--no! O Dios! if it should reach other hands!--those of _his_ enemies! It names to-night--true, it does not tell theplace, but the time is mentioned--the place would be easily discovered.Oh! that I knew where to communicate with him! But I know not, and hewill come. _Ay de mi_! it cannot be prevented now. I must hope noenemy has got it. But where can it be? Madre de Dios! where can itbe?"
All these phrases were uttered in a tone and emphasis that showed theconcern of the speaker at the loss of some object that greatlyinterested her. That object was no other than the note brought byJosefa, and written by Carlos the cibolero, in which the assignation forthat night had been appointed. No wonder she was uneasy at its loss!The wording not only compromised herself, but placed the life of herlover in extreme peril. This it was that was casting the dark shadowsover her countenance--this it was that was causing her to traverse theazotea and the garden in such anxious search.
"I must ask Vicenza," she continued. "I like not to do it, for I havelost confidence in her of late. Something has changed this girl. Sheused to be frank and honest, but now she has grown false andhypocritical. Twice have I detected her in the act of deceiving me.What does it mean?"
She paused a moment as if in thought. "I must ask her notwithstanding.She may have found the paper, and, not deeming it of any use may havethrown it in the fire. Fortunately she does not read, but she has to dowith others who can. Ha! I forgot her soldier sweetheart! If sheshould have found it, and shown it to him! _Dios de mi alma_!"
This supposition seemed a painful one, for it caused the lady's heart tobeat louder, and her breathing became short and quick.
"That would be terrible!" she continued,--"that would be the very worstthing that could happen. I do not like that soldier--he appears meanand cunning and I have heard is a bad fellow, though favoured by theComandante. God forfend he should have gotten this paper! I shall loseno more time. I shall call Vicenza, and question her."
She stepped forward to the parapet that overlooked the patio.
"Vicenza!--Vicenza!"
"_Aqui, Senorita_," answered a voice from the interior of the house.
"_Ven aca_!--_Ven aca_!" (Come hither.)
"_Si, Senorita_."
"_Anda! Anda_!" (Quickly.)
A girl, in short bright-coloured nagua, and white chemisette withoutsleeves, came out into the patio, and climbed up the escalera that ledto the roof.
She was a _mestiza_, or half-blood, of Indian and Spanish mixture, asher brownish-white skin testified. She was not ill-looking; but therewas an expression upon her countenance that precluded the idea of eithervirtue, ho
nesty, or amiability. It was a mixed expression of malice andcunning. Her manner, too, was bold and offensive, like that of one whohad been guilty of some known crime, and had become reckless. It wasonly of late she had assumed that tone, and her mistress had observed itamong other changes.
"_Que quiere V., Senorita_?" (What want you, my lady?)
"Vicenza, I have lost a small piece of paper. It was folded in anoblong shape--not like a letter, but this--"
Here a piece of paper, similarly put up, was held out for the inspectionof the girl.
"Have you seen anything of it?"
"No, Senorita," was the prompt and ready answer.
"Perhaps you may have swept it out, or thrown it into the fire? Itlooked insignificant, and, indeed, was not of much importance, but therewere some patterns upon it I wished to copy. Do you think it has beendestroyed?"
"I know not that, Senorita. I know that _I_ did not destroy it. Ineither swept it out nor threw it into the fire. I should not do thatwith any paper, as I cannot read myself, and might destroy somethingthat was valuable."
Whatever truth there was in the last part of her harangue, the mestizaknew that its earlier declarations were true enough. She had notdestroyed it, either by sweeping out or burning.
Her answer was delivered with an ingenuous _naivete_, accompanied with aslight accent of anger, as though she was not over-pleased at beingsuspected of negligence.
Whether her mistress noticed the latter did not appear from her answer,but she expressed herself satisfied.
"It is of no consequence, then," said she. "You may go, Vicenza."
The girl walked off, looking sulky. When her head was just disappearingbelow the top of the escalera, her face was towards her mistress, whoseback was now turned to her. A scornful pouting of the lips, accompaniedby a demoniac smile, was visible upon it. It was evident from that lookthat she knew something more of the lost paper than was admitted in herlate declaration.
Catalina's gaze was once more turned upon the setting sun. In a fewminutes he would disappear behind the snowy ridge of the mountain. Thena few hours, and then--moments of bliss!
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Roblado was seated in his cuartel as before. As before, a tiny knocksounded upon the door. As before, he called out, "Quien es?" and wasanswered, "Yo!" and, as before, he recognised the voice and gave theorder for its owner to enter. As before, it was the soldier Jose, who,in a cringing voice and with a cringing salute, approached his officer.
"Well, Jose, what news?"
"Only this," replied the soldier, holding out a slip of paper foldedinto an oblong shape.
"What is it?" demanded Roblado. "Who is it from?" in the same breath.
"The captain will understand it better than I can, as I can't read; butit comes from the Senorita, and looks inside like a letter. TheSenorita got it from somebody at church yesterday morning: so thinksVicenza, for she saw her read it as soon as she got back from morningprayers. Vicenza thinks that the girl Josefa brought it up the valley,but the captain most likely can tell for himself."
Roblado had not listened to half of this talk; but had instead beenswallowing the contents of the paper. As soon as he had got to the endof it he sprang from his chair as if a needle had been stuck into him,and paced the room in great agitation.
"Quick! quick, Jose!" he exclaimed. "Send Gomez here. Say nothing toany one. Hold yourself in readiness--I shall want you too. Send Gomezinstantly. _Vaya_!"
The soldier made a salute less cringing because more hurried, andprecipitately retired from the apartment. Roblado continued--
"By Heaven! this is a piece of luck! Who ever failed to catch a foolwhen love was his lure? This very night, too, and at midnight! I shallhave time to prepare. Oh! if I but knew the place! 'Tis not givenhere."
Again he read over the note.
"Carajo, no! that is unfortunate. What's to be done? I must not goguessing in the dark! Ha! I have it! _She_ shall be watched!--watchedto the very spot! Vicenza can do that while we lie somewhere in ambush.The girl can bring us to it. We shall have time to surround them.Their interview will last long enough for that. We shall take them inthe very moment of their bliss. Hell and furies! to think of it--thislow dog--this butcher of buffaloes--to thwart me in my purposes! Butpatience, Roblado! patience! to-night--to-night!--"
A knocking at the door. Sergeant Gomez was admitted.
"Gomez, get ready twenty of your men! picked fellows, do you hear? Beready by eleven o'clock. You have ample time, but see that you be readythe moment I call you. Not a word to any one without. Let the mensaddle up and be quiet about it. Load your carbines. There's work foryou. You shall know what it is by and by. Go! get ready!"
Without saying a word, the sergeant went off to obey the order.
"Curses on the luck! if I but knew the place, or anything near it.Would it be about the house? or in the garden? Maybe outside--in thecountry somewhere? That is not unlikely. He would hardly venture sonear the town, lest some one might recognise him or his horse. Death tothat horse. No, no! I shall have that horse yet, or I much mistake.Oh! if I could find this place before the hour of meeting, then my gamewere sure. But no, nothing said of the place--yes, the _old_ place.Hell and furies! they have met before--often--often--oh!"
A groan of agony broke from the speaker, and he paced to and fro likeone bereft of his senses.
"Shall I tell Vizcarra now," he continued, "or wait till it is over? Ishall wait. It will be a dainty bit of news along with supper. PerhapsI may garnish the table with the ears of the cibolero. Ha! ha! ha!"
And uttering a diabolical laugh, the ruffian took down his sabre andbuckled the belt around his waist. He then armed himself with a pair ofheavy pistols; and, after looking to the straps of his spurs, strode outof the room.