Wood Rangers: The Trappers of Sonora

“To-morrow!” exclaimed Don Estevan; “and who knows but that to-morrow may be too late? Is the night not better for your purpose? Are you not three to one? Who is to assure you that to-morrow I may not change my mind?”

This threat seriously alarmed Cuchillo.

“Carramba! your excellency is quick to decide; you are not one of those who leave for to-morrow what should be done to-day. Pues– then – I shall try my best. In fact, it is very quiet here – I wonder the cries of this young woman have not startled the whole house. There’s not a creature about.”

Such was in reality the case. Notwithstanding the noise of the struggle between Tiburcio and his assailants, and later still, the cries of Rosarita, no one had been awakened. The vast extent of the building prevented these sounds from being heard, particularly as all the domestics of the hacienda, as well as the proprietor himself, were buried in a profound slumber.

Cuchillo now directed himself toward the apartment where he had left his comrades; Don Estevan returning at the same time to his own chamber. The moon once more poured her soft, silvery light upon the grove of oranges, as if no crime had ever been attempted in that tranquil spot.

Don Estevan did not go to rest; but for a long time paced to and fro across his ample chamber, with the air of one accustomed to watch over ambitious projects while others were asleep.

After a lapse of time, Cuchillo was heard knocking softly at his door; and as soon as it was opened, the hired assassin stepped in. His confused looks caused Don Estevan to tremble. Was the deed already done? He wished it, yet feared to ask the question. Cuchillo relieved him from his embarrassment by speaking first.

“My twenty onzas are gone to the devil!” said he, in a lugubrious tone.

“How?” hastily inquired Don Estevan.

“The bird has flown: the young man is no longer about the place.”

“Gone!” exclaimed Don Estevan. “And you have let him escape?”

“How could I hinder him? This brute, Baraja, as well as Oroche, were both drunk with mezcal; and Diaz refused to assist me, point-blank. While I was endeavouring to arouse the other two, the fellow had taken leg bail through an opening in the wall of the garden – at least that’s all we can make out.”

“And how have you arrived at this conjecture?” asked Don Estevan, angrily striking the floor with his foot.

“Why, when we arrived at the place, the Doña Rosarita was clinging over the wall, no doubt guided there by Tiburcio. He could not be far off at the time, for she was still calling upon him to return; and judging by the love-speeches she was making, she must have earnestly desired it.”

“She loves him, then?”

“Passionately – or her words and her accents are all deceit. ‘Come back!’ she cried, ‘Tiburcio, come back! I love only you!’ These were the last words I heard; for shortly after she left the wall, and went back to her room.”

“We must to horse and pursue him!” cried Don Estevan, hurrying to make ready; “yes, there is no help for it now. The success of our expedition depends upon the life of this ragged fellow. Go! arouse Benito and the others. Tell them to saddle the horses. Warn your friends in the chamber that we must be en route in an hour. Away! while I awake Don Augustin and the Senator.”

“Just as I have known him for twenty years,” muttered Cuchillo, as he hastened to his companions, “always awake, always ready for the greatest obstacles. Well, if with his character he has not made way in his own country, I fear that in Europe perseverance and energy are not worth much.”

Don Estevan, as soon as Cuchillo had left him, spent a few minutes in putting himself once more in travelling costume, and then repaired to the chamber of the Senator. He found the door open – as is the custom in a country where people spend most of their lives outside their houses. The moon was beaming full through the large window, and her light illumined the chamber as well as the couch upon which the Senator was sleeping.

“What is it, Don Estevan?” cried the Senator, suddenly leaping up in his bed; “Señor Estevan, I should say.” Tragaduros had been dreaming of the court of the King of Spain. “What is it, your grace?”

“I come to take leave of you, and to give you my final instructions.”

“Eh! what?” said the Senator. “Is the hour late? or have I been three days asleep?”

“No,” gravely replied the Spaniard, “but there is a serious danger that menaces our projects – both yours and mine. This young rustic, whom we found on the road, knows all about the Golden Valley; and what is still worse, he loves Doña Rosarita, and Doña Rosarita loves him.”

Tragaduros, instead of starting up at this announcement, sank back upon his pillow, crying out.

“Adieu then to the million dollars of dowry! adieu to those beautiful plains covered with horses and cattle, which I already believed my own! adieu to the honours of the court of Carlos el Primero!”

“Come! all is not yet lost,” said Don Estevan. “The evil may be remedied if taken in time. This young fellow has quitted the hacienda. It will be necessary to follow and find him before he gets out of the way. So much the worse for him, if his evil star is in opposition to yours.”

The Spaniard said no more of his designs with regard to Tiburcio. As to the Senator, it was of little importance to him how he was to be disembarrassed of so dangerous a rival, so long as he himself should not be troubled with the matter.

“Whatever may be the end of it,” added Don Estevan, “one thing is certain – the young fellow will never be allowed to come back to this house, for I shall arrange that with Don Augustin. You will therefore be master of the situation, and will have everything your own way. Make the young lady love you – it will be easy enough – your rival will be absent, he may be dead– for these deserts are dangerous, and you know the old proverb about absence?”

“I shall make myself irresistible!” said the Senator, “for since yesterday I feel as if I was on fire about this lovely creature, who appears to have come down direct from heaven – and with – such a dowry!”

“No man ever aimed at an object more desirable than this immense dowry and this fair flower of the desert. Spare no pains, therefore, to win both the lady and the fortune.”

“If necessary I shall spin for her, as Hercules at the feet of Omphalé.”

“Ha, ha ha!” laughed the Spaniard. “If Hercules had any merits in the eyes of Omphalé, it was not on account of his spinning, but because he was Hercules. No – do better than spin. To-morrow Don Augustin has a hunt among his wild steeds; there will be an opportunity for you to distinguish yourself by some daring exploit. Mount one of the wildest of the horses, for the honour of the beautiful eyes of Rosarita, and after having tamed him, ride him up panting into her presence. That will gain you more grace than handling the thread and distaff à la Hercules.”

The Senator responded to these counsels with a sigh: and Don Estevan, having given him further instructions as to how he was to act during the absence of the expedition, took leave of him, and repaired to the chamber of Don Augustin.

The clank of his heavy spurs, as he entered the sleeping apartment of the haciendado, awoke the latter – who on opening his eyes and seeing his nocturnal visitor in full riding-costume, cried out:

“What! is it time to set forth upon the chase? I did not know the hour was so late!”

“No, Don Augustin,” replied the Spaniard, “but for me the hour has come to set forth upon a more serious pursuit than that of wild horses. I hasten to pursue the enemy of your house – the man who has abused your hospitality, and who if not captured, may bring ruin upon all our projects.”

“The enemy of my house! the man who has abused my hospitality!” cried the haciendado, starting up in astonishment, and seizing a long Toledo rapier that hung by the side of his bed, “Who is the man that has acted so, Don Estevan?”

“Be calm!” said Don Estevan, smiling inwardly at the contrast exhibited between the spirit of the haciendado and the pusillanimity of the Senator. “Be calm! the enemy I speak of is no longer under your roof – he has fled beyond the reach of your just vengeance.”

“But who is he?” impatiently demanded Don Augustin.

“Tiburcio Arellanos.”

“What! Tiburcio Arellanos my enemy! I do not believe it. Loyalty and courage are the characteristics of the young man. I shall never believe him a traitor.”

“He knows the situation of the Golden Valley! Furthermore, he loves your daughter!”

“Is that all? Why, I was aware of these facts already!”

“Yes, but your daughter loves him – perhaps you were not aware of that fact?”

Don Estevan here detailed the events that had just transpired, and which proved that the passion of the young gambusino was reciprocated by Rosarita.

“Well!” calmly rejoined Don Augustin; “so much the worse for the Senator!”

This reply could not fail to astonish the Spaniard, and create a feeling of disappointment.

“Remember,” said he, “remember, Don Augustin Peña; that you have engaged your word – not only to me, not only to Tragaduros, but to a prince of the blood royal of Spain, from whose brow this apparently simple incident – the caprice of a young girl – may snatch a crown. Think too of your country – its future glory and greatness – all dependent on the promise you have given – ”

“Why,” interrupted Don Augustin, “why set forth all these considerations? After my promise has been given, I never retract my word. But it is only to the Duke de Armada I have engaged myself, and he alone can free me from that engagement. Are you satisfied with this assurance?”

“How could I be otherwise?” cried the Spaniard, holding out his hand to the noble haciendado. “Enough! I have your word, it will be necessary forme to leave you without farther delay. This young fellow may find comrades to accompany him to the Golden Valley. There is not a moment, therefore, to be lost. I must at once proceed to Tubac. Adieu, my friend, adieu!”