Wood Rangers: The Trappers of Sonora

Despite the low state of his finances, however, the Senator had not the less a real influence in the congress of Sonora; and it was this influence which Don Estevan intended using to his own advantage. Hence the companionship that now existed between them.

“I agree with all my heart to your proposal,” answered Tragaduros, “the more so that we have now been nearly five hours in the saddle.”

Two of the servants dismounting, took their masters’ horses by the bridle, while the other two looked after the cargas of the mules. The camp-beds were taken from the pack saddles, and carried into two of the houses that appeared the most spacious and proper.

We shall leave the Senator reclining upon his mattress, to enjoy that profound slumber which is the portion of just men and travellers; while we accompany Don Estevan into the hut which he had chosen for himself, and which stood at some distance from that occupied by the legislator.

Chapter Nine

The Compact

After having followed Don Estevan, at the invitation of the latter, inside the hovel, Cuchillo closed behind him the wattle of bamboos that served as a door. He did this with great care – as if he feared that the least noise should be heard without – and then he stood waiting for the Spaniard to initiate the conversation.

The latter had seated himself on the side of his camp-bedstead, and Cuchillo also sat down, using for his seat the skull of a bullock, – which chanced to be in the house. It is the ordinary stool of this part of the country, where the luxury of chairs is still unknown – at least in the houses of the poor.

“I suppose,” said Arechiza, breaking silence, “that you have a thousand reasons why I should know you by no other than your present name. I, with motives very different from yours, no doubt, desire to be here nothing more than Don Estevan Arechiza. Now! Señor Cuchillo,” continued the speaker with a certain affectation of mockery; “let us have this grand secret that is to make your fortune and mine!”

“A word first, Señor Don Estevan de Arechiza,” replied Cuchillo, in the same tone; “one word, and then you shall have it.”

“I listen to you; but observe, sir, say nothing of the past – no more perfidy. We are here in a country where there are trees, and you know how I punish traitors.”

At this allusion to some past event – no doubt some mysterious souvenir – the face of the outlaw became livid.

“Yes,” replied he, “I remember that it is not your fault that I was not hung to a tree. It may be more prudent not to recall old wrongs – especially as you are no longer in a conquered country, but in one of forests – forests both sombre and dumb.”

There was in this response of the outlaw such an evident air of menace, that, joined with his character and sinister antecedents, it required a firm heart on the part of Don Estevan not to regret having recalled the souvenir. With a cold smile he replied:

“Ha! another time I shall entrust the execution of a traitor in the hands of no human being. I shall perform that office myself,” continued he, fixing upon Cuchillo a glance which caused the latter to lower his head. “As to your threats, reserve them for people of your own kind; and never forget, that between my breast and your dagger there is an insurmountable barrier.”

“Who knows?” muttered Cuchillo, dissembling the anger which was devouring him. Then in a different tone, he continued: “But I am no traitor, Señor Don Estevan; and the proposal I am now about to make to you is frank and loyal.”

“We shall see, then.”

“Know, then, Señor Arechiza, that for several years past I have followed the profession of a gambusino, and have rambled over most of this country in the exercise of my calling. I have seen a deposit of gold such as mortal eye perhaps never looked upon!”

“You have seen it, and not possessed yourself of it?”

“Do not mock me, Don Estevan; I am in earnest. I have seen a placer so rich that the man who gets it might for a whole year play the game of hell with luck all the while against him, and not be impoverished! So rich as to satisfy the most insatiable avarice; so rich, in fact, as to buy a kingdom!”

At these words, which responded to some hopes and desires already conceived, Don Estevan could not hinder himself from the manifestation of a certain emotion.

“So rich,” continued the outlaw, in an exalted tone, “that I would not hesitate for one instant to give my soul to the devil in exchange for it.”

“The devil is not such a fool as to value so highly a soul which he knows he will get gratis. But how did you discover this placer?”

“Thus, señor. There was a gambusino called Marcos Arellanos, who was celebrated throughout the whole province. It was he who discovered this bonanza in company with another of the same calling as himself; but just as they were about to gather some of the gold, they were attacked by the Apache Indians. The associate of Marcos Arellanos was killed, and he himself had to run a thousand risks before he succeeded in making his escape.

“It was after he came home again that by chance I met him at Tubac. There he proposed to me to join him, and go back to the placer. I accepted his offer, and we started. We arrived safely at the Golden Valley, for by that name he called the place. Powers of Heaven!” exclaimed Cuchillo, “it only needed to see those blocks of gold shining in the sun to bring before one’s eyes a thousand dazzling visions!

“Alas! we were only permitted to feast our eyes. The savages were upon us. We were compelled to fly in our turn, and I alone escaped. Poor Marcos! he fell under the horrible war clubs; and I – I have sorely grieved for him! Now, señor, this is the secret of the Golden Valley which I desire to sell to you.”

“To sell to me: – and who is to answer for your fidelity?”

“My own interest. I sell you the secret, but I do not intend to alienate my rights to the placer. I have vainly endeavoured to get up an expedition such as yours, for without a strong force it would be of no use going there. It would be certain death to a party of only two or three. With your band, however, it will be easy, and success would be certain. I only ask the tenth part of all the gold that may be gathered, which I would deserve as guide of the expedition; and going as guide I will be at the same time a hostage for my good faith.”

“Is that what I am to understand; you estimate the price of your secret and services a tenth part of the whole?”

“That and two hundred dollars paid down to enable me to equip myself for the expedition.”

“You are more reasonable than I expected, Cuchillo. Very well, then let it be so; the two hundred dollars you shall have, and I promise you the tenth part.”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed, and you have my word upon it. Now, answer me some questions which I wish to put. Is this Golden Valley in that part of the country where I intended to have taken my expedition?”

“It is beyond the Presidio of Tubac; and since your men are to meet there you will not need to make any change in the dispositions you have already taken.”

“Good. And you have seen this Golden Valley you say with your own eyes?”

“I have seen it without the power of touching it. I have seen it grinding my teeth as I looked upon it, like the damned in hell who get a glimpse of Paradise.”

As Cuchillo spoke, his countenance betrayed beyond doubt the anguish he felt, at his cupidity having been balked.

Arechiza knew too well how to read the human physiognomy to doubt the truth of Cuchillo’s report. Two hundred dollars were to him a mere bagatelle; and taking an ebony case from his bed, small but heavy, he drew from it a rouleau of gold pieces and handed them to the gambusino, who immediately put them in his pocket.

There was a little more in the rouleau than had been bargained for. The Spaniard took no notice of this, but forming a cross with his thumb and index finger of his right hand à la mode Espagnole, he held it before Cuchillo, directing him to make an oath upon it.

“I swear by the cross,” said the latter, “to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. At the end of ten days’ journey beyond Tubac, going in a north-western direction, we shall arrive at the foot of a range of mountains. They are easy to recognise – for a thick vapour hangs over them both night and day. A little river traverses this range of hills. It is necessary to ascend it to a point where another stream runs into it. There in the angle where the two meet, is a steep hill, the summit of which is crowned by the tomb of an Indian chief. I was not near enough to distinguish the strange ornaments that surround this tomb; but at the foot of the hill there is a small lake by the side of a narrow valley in which the water from rain torrents has thrown to the surface immense treasures of gold, this is the Golden Valley.”

“The way will be easily found?” inquired Don Estevan.

“But difficult to travel,” replied Cuchillo. “The arid deserts will be no obstacle compared with the danger from the hostility of Indians. This tomb of one of their most celebrated chiefs they hold in superstitious veneration. It is the constant object of their pilgrimages, and it was during one of these visits that we were surprised. Arellanos and myself.”

“And this Arellanos – do you think, he has not revealed this secret to any one besides yourself?”

“You must know,” replied Cuchillo, “that it is a custom of the gambusinos, before starting upon any expedition, to swear before the Holy Evangelists not to reveal the bonanzas they may find without the consent of their associates. This oath Arellanos took, and his death of course prevented him from betraying it.”

“You have said that after his return from his first expedition, you met him in Tubac. Was there no woman whom he may perchance have had in his confidence?”

“His wife only – he may have told it to her. But yesterday a vaquero gave me the news that she has lately died. For all that, she may have revealed the secret to her son.”

“Arellanos had a son then?”

“An adopted son – a young man whose father or mother no one knows anything about.”

Don Estevan could not repress an involuntary movement.

“This young fellow is, no doubt, the son of some poor devil of this province?” said the Spaniard, in a careless way.