The Bandolero: or, A Marriage among the Mountains

“What name?” I asked, with a painful presentiment.

“Ah, señor capitan; one too well known upon these roads.”

“Carrasco?” I half shouted, without waiting for the padre to pronounce it.

“Ay Dios, señor! You know everything! That is the name. I heard it from one of his followers, who spoke to him as they hurried off in the darkness. The robber-chief who has done this foul deed is the noted captain Carrasco! Pobres niñas!”

Chapter Thirty Five.

Sad but Sweet

I waited for no further explanation on the part of the Franciscan.

I fancied I now understood the situation, as well as he – perhaps better.

With the thought of Dolores in the keeping of common brigands, I should have been, if not content, certainly less tortured. It was a different thing to think of her in the keeping of Torreano Carrasco!

Vividly flashed before me the taunting in the Cathedral – the scenes in the “Street of the Sparrows.”

“Make ready, men! Look to your rifles and revolvers! Sergeant! form in single file, for a march up the mountain-path!”

As he of the triple chevron hastened to execute the order, I turned towards Francisco Moreno.

With an indescribable emotion, I bent down over the wounded man.

At a glance I could see that he had been badly abused.

In addition to several stabs from sword or poignard, the bullet of an escopette had traversed his left thigh – the purple spot appearing right over the femoral artery!

I had myself received just such a shot at the storming of Chapultepec – creasing, but, fortunately, without cutting the vein; and I knew, that if this had been opened in the thigh of Francisco Moreno it was his life-blood I saw upon the floor.

Its quantity, and the deathlike paleness of his face, were points for a sad prognosis.

In a double sense the spectacle gave me pain. In the finely-chiselled features – more perfect in their pallor – I saw that which had deprived me of Dolores Villa-Señor. No wonder she loved him!

But he was going from this world, and my jealousy should go with him.

It went at once, hastened by thoughts of Carrasco; and my first friendship for Francisco Moreno was restored in all its strength.

I looked around the room. There was no furniture, except such as appeared to have been transported thither for the occasion. I stepped into a small chamber adjoining. In this I discovered a catre, or camp-bedstead of leather, stretched upon trestles. Some shawls, scarfs, and other articles of female apparel thrown over it, told of its intended occupancy. It was to have been the bridal bed!

I had the bridegroom placed upon it; to receive the embrace, not of Dolores, but Death!

After a cursory examination of his wounds, I conceived a more hopeful opinion of them. The haemorrhage had been profuse. Still the main artery did not appear to be touched.

He was feeble as a child; and stood in need of some restorative.

I could think only of that which, under circumstances strangely analogous, had given support to myself – a draught of Catalan. My flask was full of refino– the best that could be obtained in the Capital.

I placed it between his lips; and poured down a portion of its contents.

The effect was such as I anticipated – drawing from my own remembrance. The spirit passed immediately through his frame – filling his veins as with fresh blood.

He soon became conscious: he recognised me.

“Ah, señor!” said he, looking gratefully in my face, “It is you – you who are doing me this kindness! Oh! tell me, where is she – Dolores – my own Dolores – my bride – my wife? Ah – no – she was not yet that? But where – where – ”

“Do not disquiet yourself about her,” I said, with a bitterness that even his sufferings could not hinder me from showing. “No doubt she can take care of herself.”

“But where is she? O señor! tell me where!”

“Compose yourself, Don Francisco. The lady cannot yet be far off. I fancy I shall be able to overtake the scoundrels who have carried her away.”

“They have carried her away? O God! carried away, by him – by him!”

“By whom?”

It was an idle interrogatory. I knew without asking. There was a voice still ringing in my ears – a voice I had distinguished through the din of the strife, and which even then I fancied having heard before. I now knew it was no fancy. The friar had convinced me of that.

“That wretch, Carrasco!” replied the wounded man; “I am sure it was he. I recognised him despite the crape mask. Lola, Lola! you are lost! And still more Mercedes! pobre Mercedes!”

I did not press for an explanation of this speech, that sounded so ambiguously strange. I only said in reply:

“Señor Moreno, do not excite yourself. Leave the matter in my hands. My duty compels me to use every effort in recovering these ladies, and punishing the vile caitiffs who have carried them off. Have no fear about my doing what I can. If fate wills it, your Dolores shall be restored to you.”

“Thanks, thanks, señor! I feel assured you will do what can be done. If not for Dolores, you should for the sake of her sister.”

“Her sister! What mean you by that speech, captain Moreno?”

“Ah, caballero! if you but knew how she loves you!”

“Loves me!”

“Ay. It was in the hope of seeing you, that she consented to assist in a stratagem, of which I need not tell you now. It was to end by our going on to the Capital; where, since the storming of Chapultepec, she knew you have been residing. She heard of your gallant behaviour in that sanguinary action, and of the dangerous wounds you received. You cannot guess how she grieved for you – despite her chagrin. Pobre Mercedes!”

“Mercedes – grieved – chagrin! You mystify me.”

“Ah, señor – your conduct mystified her. Ay more: it half broke her heart.”

“Francisco Moreno! for heaven’s sake explain yourself! What does all this mean – about Mercedes? Pray tell me!”

“I can tell you little, but what should be known to yourself. Pobre niña! She had made me her confidant, – having long been mine in my correspondence with Lola. O, señor! you have been kind to me. You are doubly so now. But why have you behaved so to Mercedes? Though I may never rise from this couch, I cannot help telling you it was dishonourable, – ay cruel!”

“On what occasion, may I ask, has this cruelty occurred?”

“You are mocking me, amigo? You must remember it. She gave you an appointment in the Alameda; and though you came, and she saw you, you went away without waiting to speak to her. After that slight she never saw you again! To win a woman’s heart, and thus trifle with it! Was it not cruel? I ask, was it not cruel?”

An overpowering surprise hindered me from making reply. There was something more to account for my remaining silent. Through the darkness long shrouding my soul, I discerned the dawning of day.

“You cannot have forgotten the occasion?” continued the wounded man, still speaking reproachfully, “I myself have reason to remember it: since it brought me a message from Lola – the sweetest ever received from my querida. It was a written promise to be mine; a vow registered en papel: that sooner than enter the convent she would consent —huyar – huyar. You know what that means?”

Though I well understood the significance of the phrase, I was not in a state of mind to answer the interrogatory. I had one of my own to put – to me of far more importance.

“You received your letter through the window of a carriage? Was it not the writer herself who delivered it?”

“Por Dios, no! The billetita you speak of was from Dolores. She who gave it me was Mercedes!”

I felt like folding Francisco Moreno in my friendliest embrace. I could have stayed by his bedside to nurse him, or, what was then more likely, to close his eyelids in death!

I could have canonised him for the words he had spoken. To me they had imparted new life – along with a determination, that soon absorbed every impulse of my soul.

I need not tell what it was. In less time than it would take to declare it, I was scaling the steeps of Ixticihuatl in search of my lost love – once more, Mercedes!

Chapter Thirty Six.

The Bandits at Bay

I went not without a guide, else I might have climbed Ixticihuatl in vain.

The stage-driver still acted in this capacity. By good fortune he had made the ascent before – on some speculative expedition during a recess, when the ribbons were out of his hands; and he knew of a second “robbers’ nest” still higher up than that chosen as the scene of the nuptials.

It was a lone log hut, the residence of a reputed charcoal burner; but the situation was too high to be convenient for charcoal burning; and, in Sam Brown’s opinion, the “carbonero” was in reality a bandolero.

There was just a chance we might find Carrasco at this hut; if not, somewhere else among the mountains.

How different were the feelings with which I now prosecuted the search. No longer indifferent about the escape of the robbers, I was determined on tracking them up, if I should have to traverse every defile in the Cordillera, or climb to the summit of Popocatepec!

Like a second Ordaz, I could have plunged into its fiery crater to rescue the captive, who but a short hour before might have leaped into it, without my stretching forth a hand to restrain her!

It was all changed now. The wound, that had been bleeding for six long months, had become suddenly cicatrised. A load seemed lifted from my heart.

I felt light and lithe as I sprang up the acclivity. No Alpine climber could have equalled me in energy: for never went one with such a purpose to stimulate his strength. It were a trite triumph to scale the summit of the Matterhorn, compared with that of rescuing Mercedes Villa-Señor!

The path was not only difficult, but perilous. It would have been so in the day. At night both the danger and difficulty were doubled. It was all up hill – steep as the side of a cairn, and with footing not much surer. The surface was corrugated with lava runs, that had been liquid some centuries before – now congealed into scoriae that resembled the slag cast forth from a furnace.

It was not treeless; but sparsely covered with cactus, grass-like tufts of zamia, and stunted fir-trees. Here and there were patches bare and coal-black – as if the lava had but recently cooled, after being vomited forth from the volcan above.

Two things greatly delayed us: the darkness, and the necessity of making a noiseless advance. The slightest sound – a word spoken aloud – might frustrate the purpose of our pursuit.

I had given strict orders for no one to speak – even in whispers. In these alone the guide conversed, as he gave his directions. We knew that our voices would be carried upward to the ears of the brigands, while there was not much likelihood of our hearing theirs.

That they were above us we had little doubt; though we neither heard nor saw them. We were assured by the nature of the ground. The path carried us along the combing of a ridge – on either side flanked by a stupendous precipice. It was but the continuation of the twin cliffs that hemmed in the hacienda below. We saw no side track, that the robbers could have taken. We were certain we had them before us.

Our search promised fair for success. The robbers could have no suspicion that they were being followed – least of all by a score of American riflemen. The only enemy they might deem near had been left helpless below.

Silently we toiled on, stepping as lightly as possible over the loose lava.

At intervals we stopped to listen. We fancied we could hear footsteps and the murmuring of men. We were not sure about either. The torrent tearing along the bottom of the “barranca” sent its “sough” into our ears – filling them to the exclusion of almost every other sound.

Still the ravishers could not be far ahead of us. Not suspecting pursuit, they would have no motive for moving in a hurry; though Carrasco might have one – Mercedes!

The horrid thought chilled the blood within my veins, causing me to stride on with nervous impatience.

Though the place we were making for was scarce a mile from that we had left, nearly two hours elapsed before we came in sight of it.

We did so at length.

What we saw was a rude parallelopipedon projected in dark silhouette against the moonlit sky. It was a cabin constructed of hewn tree trunks; very similar to that of the “States,” only with a flat terraced roof instead of the slanting cover of “clap-boards.”

It stood upon the very edge of the abyss, its back being flush with the escarpment of the cliff! Only one aperture appeared on the side towards us – a narrow doorway, with a door upon it; which, as we came within sight, appeared to be shut.

Presently it was opened from the inside – letting out a stream of light that scattered over the cleared track in front. On this we could distinguish the figures of several men, hitherto unseen under the shadow of the walls. The logs were in juxta-position, as if carefully “chinked” to keep out the cold: for the dwelling was situated on the extreme limits of the tierra fria.

While the door remained open we could see a number of men moving inside, and in their midst the loosely dressed form of a woman. A white scarf floated among the darker drapery of cloaks and jaquetas.

The robbers appeared to have just arrived. We knew they could not have been there long. Those inside the hut were hurrying to and fro – some carrying torches that appeared recently ignited.

The party without had commenced kindling a fire, that soon blazed up, throwing its red glare athwart the grey pine-trees; a grove of which growing near the edge of the cliff flung its sable shadow over the dwelling.

The bivouackers were the inferior men of the band; for whom there was no accommodation inside.

We could bear voices, both inside and out; but the harsh hissing of the cascade, both above and below, hindered us from making anything of what was said.

We needed no words to give us an explanation of what we saw. It was intelligible without this. We had tracked the bandits to their den. They were in it – their victims along with them!

For the first time since starting on the uphill pursuit, we felt puzzled as to how we should act. My own impulses prompted me to spring forward, and bring the affair to an instant termination.

As far as regarded victory or defeat, I had no fear about the issue. Although Carrasco’s party and ours were nearly equal in numbers, I knew that in real strength – as in courage and equipment – we were as two to their one.

But even reversing the order, my men would not have shied from the contest; not if the enemy had been ten to our one.

For myself – with the motive I had, to move, and madden me, – odds never entered my thoughts.

As it was, we simply considered ourselves in the presence of vermin, that we could crush beneath the heels of our boots.

With such feeling of contempt for our antagonists, the impulse was to set upon them at once. My men only waited for the word.

I was prevented from giving it by a reflection. In destroying the vermin the game might be injured along with it? Mercedes and her sister – I thought only of Mercedes – might be wounded, perhaps killed in the conflict?

This fear was sufficient to restrain us. My comrades intuitively shared it with me; and I had no difficulty in keeping them in check.

For some time we stayed, crouching behind the trees, where we had first come within sight of the cabin.

Who could say what was best to be done? This was the inquiry that passed mechanically among us.

The sergeant had conceived an idea. He was an old veteran of the Texan wars – had served in the campaigns of Houston – and obtained a thorough knowledge of the Mexican character.

“Best way, capten,” said he, whispering close to my ear, “would be to besiege ’em, and make ’em come to tarms.”

“How?”

“Surround the place. It’s half surrounded already. We’ve only got to ‘filade’ the other half, and they’ll be complete caged.”

There was sense in the sergeant’s suggestion. I should at once have acceded to it, but for the thought – I need not say what. Time was the enemy I most dreaded. Just then an hour seemed eternity!

“No,” I rejoined, “we must attack them at once. If we leave them undisturbed till the morning, then our pursuit would be to no purpose. These ladies – ”

“I kin understan you, capten. I didn’t mean to leave it till the mornin’. Let’s pounce upon ’em now – them that’s outside yonder! Lick that lot up first, and then summon the others to surrender. Seein’ their comrades taken, and theirselves surrounded – with ne’er a chance of escapin’ – they’ll be only too glad to give up the weemen – ay, without rufflin’ a hair o’ their heads. Besides,” continued he, pointing to the summit of Ixticihuatl, seen distinctly from the spot, “talkin’ o’ mornin’, look yonder, capten!”

I directed my glance upwards. A roseate tint appeared upon the snow. It was the first kiss of the Aurora. Though still night where we lay, there were signs of morn upon the summit of the mountain. In less than twenty minutes there would be daylight around us!

The thought decided me to act according to the suggestion of the sergeant.

My commands, imparted in a low tone to the comrades that crouched behind me, were followed by a quick rush across the open ground, and the almost instantaneous capture of the fellows around the fire.

It might have been done without alarming their comrades inside, but for one of them discharging his carbine as we came up.

For him it proved an imprudent act. It was the last shot he ever fired. It hurt no one; but he himself dropped dead the instant after, riddled by the bullets of our revolvers.

The rest surrendered without further show of fight; and in a minute more were our prisoners.

The shots, of course, carried the surprise inside; but instead of the door being thrown open, we saw that it was quickly barricaded!

We discovered this on attempting to force it open, and also that it had been contrived with an eye to such contingency!

While occupied in front of it we were saluted with a volley from above; while the besieged brigands were seen over the parapet of the azotea.

Before we could answer the fire, their heads were “ducked;” and we were compelled to stand with guns undischarged, or send our shots idly into the air.

I felt that we were foiled. My comrades shared the thought. A rifleman lay, wounded, among our feet. A second had dropped upon his knees; while three or four others had been scathed by scattering shots.

We stood in a position completely exposed. To hack down the door would take time. Before it could be done, we might look for a second discharge from the housetop, with an uneven chance of returning it: for we now saw that the parapet was crenelled; rudely, it is true, but sufficient for the protection of its defenders.

We felt loth to retreat. There seemed a chance to shelter ourselves close to the wall; and some, yielding to instinct, had done so. But several heavy blocks of stone were hurled down from above – proving the position untenable.

There was no help for it but retreat to the cover of the trees; and this we did, taking our crippled comrades along with us.

We had lost but little time. The interval of indecision occupied only a few seconds; and, before the bandits had got their carbines ready for a fresh fusilade, we were safely sheltered against such “sharpshooters” as they.

Chapter Thirty Seven.

A Scoundrel Safely Screened

Though for the time disconcerted, we had no thought of retreating. The unsuccessful assault but rendered my men more determined – besides still further embittering them against the despised foe.

Fortunately the wounds received by their comrades were not mortal, though it needed not this to provoke their vengeance. The situation of the two captives – now thoroughly comprehended by every one – was sufficient to check all thoughts of retiring from the strife – even had the enemy far outnumbered us.

As it was, we still believed that we had them in the trap, and it was only a question of time and strategy to bring the affair to a termination.

By withdrawing to the trees we had obtained a more advantageous position. It gave us a better chance of aiming at any object on the azotea; and as the sky was each instant becoming clearer, we could distinguish the loopholes along the parapet.

They were but rude holes – the ragged interstices between the logs – but good enough for the purpose for which they had evidently been left in the fabrication of the dwelling.

We expected to see faces behind them, or something we might fire at. We saw nothing – not so much as a hand!

The brigands had by this time discovered who were their assailants, and no doubt knew something of the skill of the American rifleman. Mistrusting it, they were keeping close – not even daring to look through the loopholes.

They were not far astray in their tactics – if such they were. Not a clear spot on the parapet that was not watched with eager eyes, and fingers ready to press upon the trigger.

For full five minutes did the inaction continue – five minutes that seemed fifty!

To me the delay was intolerable as some slow subtle torture. I was scheming how to put an end to it, when, to my astonishment, I saw a form rising above the parapet. It was that of a tall man, whose dark silhouette became outlined against the lighter background of the sky.

At a glance I recognised Carrasco!

I can scarcely tell what restrained me from sending a bullet through his body. Perhaps surprise at the unexpected apparition?

And my followers seemed to be influenced by a like feeling; since, along their whole line, not a trigger was touched!

The robber-chief must have calculated upon something of the kind, else he would not have so audaciously exposed himself.

He had also made a nice reckoning of the limits to which our surprise could be trusted. The time was short enough; but before we had recovered from it, we saw a white curtain drawn hastily before him, that concealed from our sight more than half of his person!

“A flag of truce!” thought we, as we lowered the muzzles of our guns.

In another instant we were undeceived – so far as to its being a flag. It was the white drapery of a woman’s dress – with a woman inside it! Despite the ambiguous light of the struggling dawn, I could see who the woman was.

Her appearance – quick and instantaneous – was evidently an act of compulsion – as if Carrasco had forced her into the position. I fancied I had seen his arm outstretched, as he hastily drew her in front of him.

Our rifles were instantly dropped to the “trail,” and my comrades uttered a simultaneous cry of “Shame!”

It was enough to challenge their indignation. A young and beautiful woman thus basely used for the shielding of a bandit’s body!

Many of them shivered at the thought of the murder they had been so near committing.

I experienced an emotion peculiar to myself – unknown to them – more painful than that they had been called upon to feel! since I knew the white shield to be Mercedes!

There was now enough of light to enable me to distinguish her features. It needed not this. The undulating outlines of her head, neck, and shoulders, like a cameo cut against the sky – were easily identified.

It was an image too firmly fixed in my memory, and too deeply engraven upon my heart, to be ever more mistaken.

I had just time to see that her dress was torn, her hair tossed, and hanging like a cloud about her shoulders – just time to note that she looked wan and woe-stricken – when the voice of Carrasco, rising above the sibillation of the torrent, summoned us to a parley.

“Caballeros!” he cried out, “in the darkness I have no chance to know who you are; but, from your mode of making approach, I take it you are our enemies. Furthermore, from the fact of your being armed with rifles, you should be Americanos! Am I right?”