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Up to this time Uraga has presumed him to be a perfect stranger, but when the broad brim of the sombrero no longer casts its shade over his face, and his eyelids become elevated through increasing confidence, the colonel starts to his feet with an exclamatory speech that tells of recognition. |
"Carrambo! You are Manuel -- mule driver for Don Valerian Miranda?" |
"Si, Senor; a servido de V (Yes, Sir; at your Excellency's service)," is the reply meekly spoken, and accompanied with a second sweep of the straw hat -- as gracefully as if given by a Chesterfield. |
At sight of this old acquaintance, a world of thought rushes crowding through the brain of Gil Uraga -- conjectures, mingled with pleasant anticipations. |
For it comes back to his memory, that at the time of Colonel Miranda's escape, some of his domestics went off with him, and he remembers that Manuel was one of them. In the Indian bending so respectfully before him he sees, or fancies, the first link of a chain that may enable him to trace the fugitives. Manuel should ... |
There is that in the air and attitude of the Indian which tells him there will be no need to resort to compulsory measures. The information he desires can be obtained without, and he determines to seek it by adopting the opposite course. |
"My poor fellow," he says, "you look distressed -- as if you had just come from off a toilsome journey. Here, take a taste of something to recuperate your strength; then you can let me know what you've got to say. I presume you've some communication to make to me, as the military commandant of the district. Night or da... |
While speaking the colonel has poured out a glass of the distilled mezcal juice. This the peon takes from his hand, and, nothing loth, spills the liquor between his two rows of white glittering teeth. |
Upon his stomach, late unused to it, the fiery spirit produce! an effect almost instantaneous; and the moment after he becomes freely communicative -- if not so disposed before. But he has been; therefore the disclosures that follow are less due to the alcohol than to a passion every whit as inflammatory. He is acting ... |
"I've missed you from about here, Manuel," says the colonel, in kindly tones, making his approaches with skill. "Where have you been all this while, my good man?" |
"With my master," is the peon's reply. |
"Ah, indeed! I thought your master had gone clear out of the country?" |
"Out of the settled part of it only, senor." |
"Oh! he is still, then, within Mexican territory! I am glad to hear that. I was very sorry to think we'd lost such a good citizen and patriot as Don Valerian Miranda. True, he and I differ in our views as regards government; but that's nothing, you know, Manuel. Men may be bitter political enemies, yet very good friend... |
Despite his apparent stolidity, the Indian is not so stupid as to be misled by talk like this. With a full knowledge of the situation -- forced upon him by various events -- the badinage of the brilliant militario does not for a moment blind him. Circumstances have given him enough insight into Uraga's character and p... |
Despite the influence of the aguardiente, fast loosening his tongue, he is yet somewhat cautious in his communications; and not until Uraga repeats the question does he make answer to it. Then comes the response, slowly and reluctantly, as if from one of his long-suffering race, who has discovered a mine of precious me... |
"Senor coronel," he says, "how much will your excellency give to know where my master now is? I have heard that there's a large bounty offered for Don Valerian's head." |
"That is an affair that concerns the State. For myself, I've nothing personally to do with it. Still, as an officer of the Government, it is my duty to take what steps I can towards making your master a prisoner. I think I may promise a good reward to anyone who, by giving information, would enable me to arrest a fugit... |
"Well, your excellency, that will depend. I'm only a poor man, and need money to live upon. Don Valerian is my master, and if anything were to happen to him I should lose my situation. What am I to do?" |
"Oh, you'd easily get another, and better. A man of your strength -- By the way, talking of strength, my good Manuel, you don't seem to have quite recovered from your journey, which must have been long and fatiguing. Take another copita; you're in need of it; 'twill do you good." |
Pressure of this sort put upon an Indian, be he bravo or manso, is rarely resisted. Nor is it in Manuel's case. He readily yields to it, and tosses off another glass of the aguardiente. |
Before the strong alcohol can have fairly filtered down into his stomach its fumes ascend to his skull. |
The cowed, cautious manner -- a marked characteristic of his race -- now forsakes him; the check-strings of his tongue become relaxed, and, with nothing before his mind save his scheme of vengeance, and that of securing Conchita, he betrays the whole secret of Colonel Miranda's escape -- the story of his retreat across... |
When he further informs Uraga about the two guests who have strayed to this solitary spot, and, despite his maudlin talk, minutely describes the men, his listener utters a loud cry, accompanied by a gesture of such violence as to overturn the table, sending bottle and glasses over the floor. |
He does not stay to see the damage righted, but with a shout that reverberates throughout the whole house, summons his adjutant, and also the corporal of his guard. |
"Cabo!" he cries, addressing himself to the latter in a tone at once vociferous and commanding; "take this man to the guard-house! And see you keep him there, so that he may be forthcoming when wanted. Take heed to hold him safe. If he be missing, you shall be shot ten minutes after I receive the report of it. You have... |
From the way the corporal makes prisoner the surprised peon, almost throttling him, it is evident he does not intend running any risk of being shot for letting the latter escape. The Indian appears suddenly sobered by the rough treatment he is receiving. But he is too much astonished to find speech for protest. Mute, a... |
"Come, Roblez!" hails his superior officer, as soon as the door has closed behind the guard corporal and his captive, "Drink with me! Drink! First to revenge! I haven't had it yet, as I'd thought; that has all to be gone over again. But it's sure now -- surer than ever. After, we shall drink to success in love. Mine is... |
Chapter Forty One. |
An Earthly Paradise. |
"Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair spirit for my monitor! That I might all forget the human race, And, hating no one, love but only her. Ye elements, in whose ennobling stir I feel myself exalted, can ye not Accord me such a being? Do I err In deeming such inhabit many a spot -- Though with them... |
Oft during his sojourn in the sequestered valley do these lines occur to the young prairie merchant. And vividly; for, in very truth, he has realised the aspiration of the poet. |
But, though dwelling in a desert, far different is the scene habitually before his eyes. From the front of the humble chalet that has so opportunely afforded him a shelter, seated under the spreading branches of a pecan-tree, he can look on a landscape lovely as ever opened to the eyes of man -- almost as that closed a... |
In correspondence with these fair sights are the sounds heard. By day the cooing of doves, the soft tones of the golden oriole, and the lively chatter of the red cardinal; by night the booming note of the bull-bat, the sonorous call of the trumpeter swan, and that lay far excelling all -- the clear song of the polyglot... |
No wonder the invalid, recovering from his illness, after the long dark spell that has obscured his intellect, wrapping his soul, as it were, in a shroud -- no wonder he fancies the scene to be a sort of Paradise, worthy of being inhabited by Peris. One is there he deems fair as Houri or Peri, unsurpassed by any ideal ... |
It has no such effect upon Frank Hamersley. The child of a land above all others free from conventionalism, with a nature attuned to the picturesque, these peculiarities, while piquing his fancy, have fixed his admiration. Long before leaving his sick couch there has been but one world for him -- that where dwells Adel... |
Surely it was decreed by fate that these two should love one another! Surely for them was there a marriage in heaven! Else why brought together in such a strange place and by such a singular chain of circumstances? |
For himself, Hamersley thinks of this -- builds hopes upon it deeming it an omen. |
Another often occurs to him, also looking like fate. He remembers that portrait on the wall at Albuquerque, and how it had predisposed him in favour of the original. The features of Spano-Mexican type -- so unlike those he had been accustomed to in his own country -- had vividly impressed him. Gazing upon it he had alm... |
It has done this -- become a passion that pervade his soul, filling his whole heart. All the more from its being the first he has ever felt -- the first love of his life. And for this also all the more does he tremble as he thinks of the possibility of its being unreciprocated. |
He has been calculating the chances in his favour every hour since consciousness returned to him. And from some words heard in that very hour has he derived greater pleasure, and draws more hope than from aught that has occurred since. Constantly does he recall that soliloquy, speech spoken under the impression that it... |
There has been nothing afterwards -- neither word nor deed -- to give him proof he is beloved. The lady has been a tender nurse -- a hostess apparently solicitous for the happiness of her guest -- nothing more. Were the words she had so thoughtlessly spoken unfelt, and without any particular meaning? Or was the speech ... |
He yearns to know the truth. Every hour that he remains ignorant of it, he is in torture equalling that of Tantalus. Yet he fears to ask, lest in the answer he may have a painful revelation. |
He almost envies Walt Wilder his commonplace love, its easy conquest, and somewhat grotesque declaration. He wishes he could propose with like freedom, and receive a similar response. His comrade's success should embolden him; but does not. There is no parallelism between the parties. |
Thus he delays seeking the knowledge he most desires to possess, through fear it may afflict him. Not from any lack of opportunity. Since almost all the time is he left alone with her he so worships. Nothing stands in his way -- no zealous watchfulness of a brother. Don Valerian neglects every step of fraternal duty --... |
When Walt chances to be indoors, he has companion of his own, which hinder him from too frequently intruding upon his comrade. Enough for him the company of Conchita. |
Hamersley has equally as little to dread the intrusion of Don Prospero. Absorbed in his favourite study of Nature, the ex-army surgeon passes most of his hours in communion with her. More than half the day is he out of doors, chasing lizards into their crevices among the rocks, impaling insects on the spikes of the wil... |
So ever near the shrine of his adoration, having it all to himself, Hamersley worships on, but in silence. |
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