The Free Lances: A Romance of the Mexican Valley

“Yes, Señor Colonel!” he continued in tone satisfied as triumphant. “Other matters have hindered me from looking after these skulking proscripts. But our victory over the Tejanos has given me the power now, and I intend using it. These men must be recaptured at all cost – if it take my whole army to do it. To you, Don Carlos Santander, I entrust the task – its whole management. You have my authority to requisition troops, and spend whatever money may be needed to ensure success. And,” he added, stepping close to his subordinate, and speaking in a confidential way, “if you can bring me back Ruperto Rivas, or his head so that I can recognise it, I shall thank you not as Colonel, but as General Santander.”

The expression upon his face as he said this was truly Satanic. Equally so that on his to whom the horrid hint was given. Alike cruel in their instincts, with aims closely corresponding, it would be strange if the fugitive prisoners were not retaken.

Chapter Thirty Nine

Up the Mountain

“We’re going to have a night black as charcoal,” said Rivas, running his eye along the outline of the Cordilleras, and taking survey of the sky beyond.

“Will that be against us?” queried the young Irishman.

“In one way, yes; in another, for us. Our pursuers will be sure to ride all round the Pedregal, and leave a picket wherever they see the resemblance of path or trail leading out. If it were to come on moonlight – as luckily it won’t – we’d had but a poor chance to get past them without being seen. And that would signify a fight against awkward odds – numbers, arms, everything. We must steal past somehow, and so the darkness will be in our favour.”

As may be deduced from this snatch of dialogue, they were still in the Pedregal. But the purple twilight was now around them, soon to deepen into the obscurity of night; sooner from their having got nearly across the lava field, and under the shadow of Ajusco, which, like a black wall, towered up against the horizon. They had stooped for a moment, Rivas himself cautiously creeping up to an elevated spot, and reconnoitring the ground in front.

“It will be necessary for us to reach the mountains before morning,” he added after a pause. “Were we but common gaol-birds who had bolted, it wouldn’t much signify, and we’d be safe here for days, or indeed for ever. The authorities of Mexico, such as they are at present, don’t show themselves very zealous in the pursuit of escaped criminals. But neither you nor I, Señor Kearney, come under that category – unluckily for us, just now – and the Pedregal, labyrinth though it be, will get surrounded and explored – every inch of it within the next forty-eight hours. So out of it we must move this night, or never.”

Twilight on the table-lands of the western world is a matter of only a few minutes: and, while he was still speaking, the night darkness had drawn around them. It hindered them not from proceeding onwards, however, the Mexican once more leading off, after enforcing upon the others to keep close to him, and make no noise avoidable.

Another half-hour of clambering over rocks, with here and there a scrambling through thickets of cactus, and he again came to a stop, all, of course, doing the same. This time to use their ears, rather than eyes; since around all was black as a pot of pitch, the nearest object, rock or bush, being scarcely visible.

For a time they stood listening intently. Not long, however, before hearing sounds – the voices of men – and seeing a glimmer of light, which rose in radiation above the crest of a low ridge at some distance ahead.

“Un piqûet!” pronounced Rivas, in a half-whisper.

“Soto en la puerto – mozo!” (knave in the door – winner) came a voice in a long-drawn accentuation, from the direction of the light.

“Good!” mutteringly exclaimed the Mexican, on hearing it. “They’re at their game of monté. While so engaged, not much fear they’ll think of aught else. I know the spot they’re in, and a way that will take us round it. Come on, camarados! The trick’s ours!”

Sure enough it proved so. A path that showed no sign of having ever been trodden, but still passable, led out past the gambling soldiers, without near approach to them. And they were still absorbed in their game – as could be told by its calls every now and then drawled out, and sounding strange in that solitary place. Ruperto Rivas conducted his trio of companions clear of the Pedregal, and beyond the line of enfiladement.

In twenty minutes after they were mounting the steep slope of the Cerro Ajusco, amid tall forest trees, with no fear of pursuit by the soldiers, than if separated from them by a hundred long leagues.

After breasting the mountain for some time, they paused to take breath, Rivas saying —

“Well, caballeros, we’re on safe ground now, and may rest a bit. It’s been a close shave, though; and we may thank our stars there are none in the sky – nor moon. Look yonder! They’re at it yet. ‘Soto en la puerto – mozo!’ Ha, ha, ha!”

He referred to a faint light visible at a long distance below, on the edge of the Pedregal, where they had passed that of a picket fire-camp, which enabled the monté players to make out the markings on their cards.

“We may laugh who have won,” he added, now seemingly relieved from all apprehension of pursuit.

Nevertheless the fugitive party stayed but a short while there; just long enough to recover wind. The point they were making for was still further up the mountain, though none of them could tell where save Rivas himself. He knew the place and paths leading to it, and well; otherwise he could not have followed them, so thick was the darkness. In daylight it would have been difficult enough, yawning chasms to be crossed barransas– with cliffs to be climbed, in comparison with which the escarpments of the Pedregal were but as garden walls.

In a groping way, hand helping hand, all were at length got up and over, as the tolling of distant church bells, down in the valley below, proclaimed the hour of midnight. Just then Rivas, once more making a stop, plucked a leaf from one of the grass plants growing by, and placing it between his lips gave out a peculiar sound, half screech, half whistle – a signal as the others supposed; being assured it was, by the response soon after reaching their ears.

The signal was given again, with some variations; responded to in like manner. Then a further advance up the mountain, and still another halt; this time at hearing the hail:

“Quien viva!”

“El Capitan!” called out Rivas in answer, and received for rejoinder first an exclamation of delighted surprise, then words signifying permission to approach and pass.

The approach was not so easy, being up a steep incline, almost a cliff. But on reaching its crest they came in sight of the man who had challenged, standing on a ledge of rock. A strange-looking figure he seemed to Kearney and the Texan, wearing a long loose robe, girded at the waist – the garb of a monk, if the dim light was not deceiving them; yet with the air of a soldier, and sentinel-fashion, carrying a gun!

He was at “present arms” when they got up opposite; and wondering, but without saying aught, they passed him – their conductor, after a momentary pause and a muttered word to him, leading on as before.

Another ascent, this time short, but still almost precipitous, and this climbing came to an end.

Chapter Forty

A Faithful Steward

The spot where they had now made stop – final for the night – was still far below the summit of the mountain. It was a sort of platform or bench, formed by the crest of a projecting spur, the cliff rising sheer at its back. Its level surface was only a few acres in extent, supporting a thick growth of tall evergreen pines, the long-leaved species indigenous to Mexico. Centrally there was a place clear of timber, which ran up to the cliff’s base, or rather to a building contiguous to it. In front of this they halted, Rivas saying —

“Behold my humble abode, caballeros! Let me bid you welcome to it.”

There was light enough to let them see a massive pile of mason work outlined against the cliff’s façade, while too dim for them to distinguish its features. They could make out, however, what appeared to be a pair of windows with pointed arches, and between them a large doorway, seeming more like the mouth of a cavern. Out of this came a faint scintillation of light, and as they drew up to it, a candle could be seen burning inside a sort of covered porch, resembling the lych-gate of a country church. There were some stone benches outside, from one of which a man started up and advanced toward them, as he did so putting the formal question —

“Quien es?”

“Yo, Gregorio!” was the answer given by Rivas.

“El Capitan!” exclaimed the questioner, in a tone also telling of pleased surprise. “And free again! I’m so glad, Don Ruperto! Praise to the Lord for delivering you!”

“Thanks, good Gregorio! And while you’re about it, you may as well give part of your praise to a lady, who had something to do with it – indeed, two of them.”

“Ah! Señor Capitan, I think I know one of them anyhow, and in all Mexico I can say – ay, swear it – ”

“True, true!” interrupted the Captain. “But stay your asseveration. There’s no time to talk about the Señoritas now. My friends and I are in want of something to eat. We’re as hungry as coyotes. What have you got in the larder?”

“Not much, I fear, your worship. And the cook’s gone to bed, with everybody else. But they’ll only be too delighted to get up when they hear it’s your worship come back. Shall I go and rouse them, Señor?”

“No, no. Let them sleep it out. Any cold thing will do for us. We’re as much fatigued as famished, and wish to be in bed ourselves as soon as possible. So look out whatever eatables there are, and don’t forget the drinkables. I trust the cellar isn’t as low as the larder?”

“No, Señor. Of that I can speak with more confidence. Not a cork has been drawn since you left us – I mean of the best wines. Only the common Canario was drunk in your absence.”

“In that case, mayor-domo, we may sup satisfactorily, so far as the liquids are concerned, should the solids prove deficient. Bring a bottle of Burgundy, another of the Brown Madeira, and, let me see – yes, one of old Pedro Ximenes. I suppose the brethren have used up all my best cigars?”

“Not one of them, Señor. The Havannahs have been under lock and key, too. I gave out only puros.”

“What a faithful steward you’ve proved yourself, Gregorio! Well, along with the wine, let us have a bundle of Imperadores. We haven’t tasted tobacco for days, and are all dying for a smoke.”

By this time they had entered the porch, and were passing on through a long corridor, still more dimly illuminated. But there was light issuing from a side-door, which stood open. By this Rivas made stop, with word and gesture signifying to the others to pass on inside, which they did. Not all of them, however; only Kearney and Rock. A different disposition he meant making of the dwarf than giving him Burgundy and Madeira to drink, with the smoking of “Emperor” cigars. Pointing to the crooked semblance of humanity, at which Gregorio was gazing with a puzzled air, he whispered to the latter —

“Take the beast back, and shut him up in one of the cells. You may give him something to eat, but see to his being securely kept. Insignificant as he looks, there’s mischief in him, and he might take it into his head to stray. You comprehend, Gregorio?”

“I do, your worship. I’ll take care to stow him safe.”

Saying which, the mayor-domo of the establishment, for such Gregorio was, caught the hunchback by one of his ears – grand auricles they were – and led him away along the corridor, with the prison chain trailing behind.