Wood Rangers: The Trappers of Sonora

“It is certainly my intention not to employ this gold to any other purpose than a godly one,” said he, concealing his anguish as well as he could. “As to the knowledge of this wonderful valley, it is to – it is to chance that I owe it.”

“Chance always comes to the assistance of virtue,” replied Pepé, coldly. “Well, in your place, I should not, nevertheless, be without anxiety touching the vicinity of those two pine trees.”

“What do you mean?” cried Cuchillo, turning pale.

“Nothing – unless this may prove to you one of those trifling inconveniences, about which you just now said a man should not trouble himself. Por Dios! you have enough booty to render a king jealous.”

“But I acquired this gold legitimately – I committed no murder to obtain it. What I did was not worthless. The devil! I am not in the habit of killing for nothing,” cried Cuchillo, exasperated, and who, mistaking the carabinier’s intentions, saw only in his alarming innuendoes regret at his defrauded cupidity.

Like the sailor, who, overtaken by a storm, throws a part of his cargo overboard to save the rest, Cuchillo resolved with a sigh, to shun, by means of a sacrifice, the danger with which he was threatened.

“I again repeat to you,” said he, in a low voice, “chance alone gave me a knowledge of this treasure; but I don’t wish to be selfish. It is my intention to give you a share. Listen,” he continued, “there is in a certain place, a block of gold of inestimable value; honest fellows should understand one another, and this block shall be yours. Ah! your share will be better than mine.”

“I hope so,” said Pepé; “and in what place have you reserved me my portion?”

“Up yonder!” said Cuchillo, indicating the summit of the pyramid.

“Up yonder, near the pine trees? Ah, master Cuchillo, how glad I am to find that you have not taken my foolish little joke amiss, and that these trees do not affect you any more than if they were cactus plants! Between ourselves, Don Tiburcio, whom you perceive to be deeply absorbed, is only regretting in reality the enormous sum he has given you, for a service which he could equally well have performed himself.”

“An enormous sum! it was but a very fair price, and at any rate I should have lost it,” cried Cuchillo, recovering all his habitual impudence of manner, on seeing the change that had taken place in the conduct and tone of the ex-carabinier.

“Agreed,” continued the latter; “but in truth, he may have repented of the bargain; and I must avow that if he commanded me to blow your brains out, in order to get rid of you, I should be compelled to obey him. Allow me, then, to call him here so as to restore his confidence; or, better still, come and show me the portion, which your munificence destines for me. Afterwards we each go our own way; and notwithstanding all you have said about it, the share assigned to you will surpass all your expectations.”

“Let us set off then,” resumed Cuchillo, happy to see a negotiation – the probable result of which began to cause him serious uneasiness – terminate so satisfactorily for him and, casting a glance of passionate tenderness upon a heap of gold which he had piled up upon his wrapper, he set off towards the summit of the pyramid. He had scarcely reached it, when, upon Pepé’s invitation, Fabian and Bois-Rose began to ascend the steep on the other side.

“No one can escape his fate,” said Pepé to Fabian, “and I had already proved to you that the rascal would testify no astonishment. Be that as it may remember that you have sworn to avenge the death of your adopted father, and that in these deserts you ought to shame the justice of cities, where such crimes go unpunished. To show mercy towards such a knave is an outrage to society! Bois-Rose! I shall need the assistance of your arm.”

The Canadian hunter, by a glance, interrogated him, for whom his blind devotion knew no bounds.

“Marcos Arellanos craved pardon and did not obtain it,” said Fabian, no longer undecided, “and as this man did to others, so let it be done to him.”

And these three inexorable men seated themselves solemnly upon the summit of the pyramid, where Cuchillo already awaited them. At sight of the severe aspect of those whom he had inwardly so many reasons to dread, Cuchillo felt all his apprehensions renewed. He endeavoured, however, to recover his assurance.

“Do you see,” said he, pointing out behind the sheet of water, whose majestic torrent foamed beside them, “the spot where the block of gold sheds forth its dazzling rays?”

But the eyes of his judges did not turn in the direction he indicated. Fabian rose slowly; his look caused the blood to curdle in the veins of the outlaw.

“Cuchillo!” said he, “you saved me from dying of thirst, and you have not done this for one who is ungrateful. I have forgiven you the stab with which you wounded me at the Hacienda del Venado. I have pardoned another attempt you made near El Salto de Agua; also the shot which you only could have fired upon us from the summit of this pyramid. I might, in short, have forgiven every attempt you have made to take away a life you once saved; and with having pardoned you, I have even recompensed you, as a king does not recompense the executioner of his justice.”

“I do not deny it; but this worthy hunter, who has informed me with a great deal of circumspection upon the delicate subject you wish to touch upon, ought also to inform you how reasonable he found me in the matter.”

“I have forgiven you,” continued Fabian, “but there is one crime, amongst others, from which your own conscience ought not to absolve you.”

“There is a perfect understanding between my conscience and myself,” resumed Cuchillo, with a graciously sinister smile, “but it seems to me that we are getting away from our subject.”

“That friend whom you assassinated in such a cowardly manner – ”

“Disputed with me the profits of a booty, and faith, the consumption of brandy was very considerable,” interrupted Cuchillo. “But permit me – ”

“Do not pretend to misunderstand me!” cried Fabian, irritated by the knave’s impudence.

Cuchillo collected his thoughts.

“If you allude to Tio Tomas, it is an affair which was never very well understood, but – ”

Fabian opened his lips to form a distinct accusation with reference to the assassination of Arellanos, when Pepé broke in —

“I should be curious,” he said, “to learn the real facts concerning Tio Tomas: perhaps Master Cuchillo has not sufficient leisure to recollect himself, which would be a pity.”

“I hold it necessary,” continued Cuchillo, flattered at the compliment, “to prove that men own such a susceptible conscience as mine; here then are the facts – My friend Tio Tomas had a nephew impatient to inherit his uncle’s fortune; I received a hundred dollars from the nephew to hasten the moment of his inheritance. It was very little for such a capital will.

“It was so little that I gave Tio Tomas warning, and received two hundred dollars to prevent his nephew becoming his heir. I committed a fault in – despatching the nephew without giving him warning, as I ought to have done, perhaps. It was then I felt how inconvenient a quarrelsome conscience like mine may become. I seized upon the only means of composition which was left me. The nephew’s money was a continual remorse to me, and I resolved to get rid of it.”

“Of the money?”

“Not so.”

“And you despatched the uncle as well?” cried Pepé.

Cuchillo assented.

“From that time my conscience had but little to reproach me with. I had gained three hundred dollars by the most ingenious integrity.”

Cuchillo was yet smiling, when Fabian exclaimed —

“Were you paid for assassinating Marcos Arellanos?”

At this astounding accusation a livid paleness overspread Cuchillo’s features.

He could no longer disguise from himself the fate that awaited him.

The bandage which covered his eyes fell suddenly; and to the flattering delusions with which he had deceived himself succeeded a formidable reality.

“Marcos Arellanos!” he stammered out in a weak voice, “who told you that? I did not kill him!”

Fabian smiled bitterly.

“Who tells the shepherd,” he cried, “where the den of the jaguar is to be found that devours his sheep?

“Who tells the vaquero where the horse that he pursues has taken refuge?

“To the Indian, the enemy he seeks?

“To the gold-seeker the ore, concealed by God?

“The surface of the lake only does not preserve the trace of the bird which flies over its waters, nor the form of the cloud which it reflects; but the earth, with its herbs and mosses, reveals to us sons of the desert, the print of the jaguar’s foot as well as the horse’s hoof and the Indian’s track; do you not know it, even as I do?”

“I did not kill Arellanos,” repeated the assassin.