Wood Rangers: The Trappers of Sonora

“You call this being quits!” cried Cuchillo, his breast still heaving from the pressure to Tiburcio’s knee. “Your life belongs to me – I only lent it to you, and I shall now take it back.”

“Come on, dog!” shouted Tiburcio, in answer; “and you too, Don Estevan, you cowardly assassin! you who pay for the murder of defenceless people.”

The countenance of the Spaniard turned livid pale at this unexpected accusation. He instantly drew his dagger, and crying out: – “Down with him, Cuchillo!” rushed furiously forward to the attack.

No doubt Tiburcio would soon have succumbed before two such formidable antagonists, but at this moment a red light flashed upon the combatants, as Doña Rosarita, with a flaming torch in her hand, rushed forward between them.

The aspect of Tiburcio, who, despite the odds against him, and the blood that was running from his arm, still fearlessly maintained his defensive attitude, caused the heart of Rosarita to beat with sympathetic admiration. This sanguinary dénouement to their interview, was pleading the cause of the lover far more eloquently than either his reproaches or promises!

The first impulse of Rosarita was to fling herself into the arms of the young man so daring and beautiful. She was restrained only from following this impulse, by a feeling of feminine delicacy; and for an instant Tiburcio seemed the one about whom she was least concerned.

“Oh! my God!” cried she, “are you wounded? Don Estevan? Señor Cuchillo? Señor Arechiza! retire; for the love of the Virgin, let not the world know that a crime has been committed in our house.”

The excited bearing of the young girl, her bosom heaving under the light tissue of her dress, her reboso floating behind her, mingled with the long dark tresses of her dishevelled hair – all these, added to the proud savage beauty of her countenance – commanded respect; and as if by enchantment, the weapons of the combatants were restored to their sheaths.

Cuchillo growled like a dog newly muzzled, while Don Estevan preserved a sombre silence. Both walked away from the ground, and their forms were soon lost in the darkness.

Tiburcio, with face upturned, his eyes still flashing with rage, his features illuminated with the red light of the torch, remained for some moments without changing his attitude. His features exhibited that superb expression that danger only magnifies into grandeur. Gradually, however, their tone became softened, and an air of melancholy succeeded it, as his eyes rested upon Rosarita. The young girl had suddenly become pale, under the reaction of such vivid emotions, as well as under the influence of the powerful sentiment now rekindled within her heart. Acting under this influence as well, she hastily arranged her scarf in order to cover her nude shoulders, and the palpitating movements of her bosom. Even her motive for this was misunderstood by Tiburcio.

“Rosarita!” he said, speaking with perfect calmness, “I might have doubted your words, but your actions have spoken more plainly. It was to my enemies you first ran, though my blood was spilling; all your fears appeared to be for Don Estevan.”

“God knows that I do not deserve this reproach,” said the young girl, as with a look of terror she saw the blood streaming to the ground. At the same instant she advanced to examine the wound.

Tiburcio repulsed her by stepping backward.

“It is too late,” said he with a bitter smile, “the evil is done. Adieu! I have been too long your guest. The hospitality of your house is fatal to me. Under your roof my life has been threatened, my dearest hopes have been crushed! Adieu, Rosarita! Adieu!”

As he pronounced the last words, he turned and walked hastily away. There was a broken place in the wall of the enclosure, and towards this he directed his steps. A hundred paces beyond, the forest commenced, and the dark sombre trees were visible through the opening. The mysterious light he had already noticed, was still glimmering feebly above their tops.

“Where are you going, Tiburcio?” cried the young girl, her hands joined and her eyes filling with tears, “my father’s roof will protect you.”

Tiburcio only answered by a negative shake of the head.

“But yonder,” continued Rosarita, pointing to the woods, “yonder, alone and without defence – danger – death will await you.”

“God will send me friends,” answered Tiburcio, glancing towards the distant light. “The hospitality of the wandering traveller – a sleep by his camp-fire – will be safer for me than that of your father’s roof.” And Tiburcio continued to advance towards the breach with a gentle but resolute step.

“For the love of heaven do not expose yourself to dangers that may perhaps arise when I am no longer present to protect you! I tell you out yonder you will be risking your life;” then giving to her voice a tone of persuasive softness, she continued, “In what place, Tiburcio, will you be safer than with me?”

Tiburcio’s resolution was for a moment shaken, and he paused to make answer.

“One word, Rosarita!” said he; “say that you hate my rival as I hate him – say this, and I remain.”

A violent conflict appeared to arise in the breast of Rosarita. Her bosom swelled with conflicting emotions, as she fixed upon Tiburcio a glance of tender reproach, but she remained silent.

To a man of Tiburcio’s age the heart of a woman is a sealed book. Not till we have lost the attractions of youth – so powerful, despite its inexperience – are we able to penetrate the mysteries of the female heart – a sad compensation which God accords to the maturity of age. At thirty years Tiburcio would have remained. But he was yet only twenty-four; he had spent his whole life in the desert, and this was his first love.

“You will not say it? Adieu, then,” cried he, “I am no longer your guest,” and saying this, he leaped over the broken wall, before the young girl could offer any opposition to his departure.

Stupefied by this unexpected movement, she mounted upon the fragments that lay at the bottom of the wall, and stretching her arms toward the forest, she cried out —

“Tiburcio! Tiburcio! do not leave us so; do you wish to bring upon our house the malediction of heaven?”

But her voice was either lost to his ears, or he disdained to reply.

She listened a moment, she could hear the sound of his footsteps fast dying in the distance – until they could be heard no more.

“Oh! my God,” cried she, falling upon her knees in an attitude of prayer, “protect this young man from the dangers that threaten him. Oh God! watch over him, for alas! he carries with him my heart.”

Then forgetting in her grief her projects of ambition, the will of her father, all that deceptive confidence, which had kept silent the voice of a love, of the existence of which she was hitherto almost ignorant – the young girl rose hastily from her knees, once more mounted upon the wall, and in a heart-rending voice called out, “Come back! Tiburcio; come back! I love only you!”

But no answer was returned, and wrapping her face in her reboso, she sat down and wept.

Before returning to her chamber she cast one more look in the direction of the forest, but the woods were still enveloped in the obscurity of night; all was sombre and silent, though in the distance the feeble light was still glimmering over the tree tops. All at once it appeared for an instant to flash more brightly, as if offering a welcome to him who had no longer a home!

Chapter Twenty Six

An Abrupt Departure

Don Estevan and Cuchillo, on leaving the ground of the combat, returned to the alley of granadines; but for some time not a word passed between them. Don Estevan was buried in a profound meditation. More skilled than his coarse companion in the mysteries of the female heart, he had divined, before the end of the dialogue between Rosarita and Tiburcio, that the young girl felt for the latter a tender sentiment. It was true it was just germinating in her soul; but the accents of her voice, her gestures, and other signs, discovered to the experienced intelligence of Don Estevan that she really loved Tiburcio, though herself not yet aware of the extent of that love.

For Tiburcio knowing the secret of the Golden Valley, Don Estevan cared little – that was a matter of secondary importance; but Tiburcio’s love reciprocated by Doña Rosarita was a very different affair. This at once presented a series of obstacles to the ambitious projects of the Spaniard. Tiburcio then must be got out of the way at all hazards, and at any price. Such are the terrible exigencies of ambition.

It only remained to adopt some plan; but the Spaniard was not then in the spirit to think of one. He was writhing at the inadvertence that had just happened.

“The clumsy fool!” he muttered, but loud enough for his companion to hear him.

“Is it of me your excellency is speaking?” inquired Cuchillo, in a tone that savoured strongly of his usual impudence.

“Who else could I mean, you sot? You who neither know how to use strength or stratagem! A woman has accomplished what you could not do! I have told you that this child is a giant to you; and had it not been for me – ”

“Had it not been for you,” interrupted the outlaw, “this young fellow would not now have been living to trouble us.”

“How sir?” demanded Don Estevan.

“Last night, as I was bringing him to your bivouac, the fellow did an outrage to my honour, and actually threatened me. I was about putting an end to our differences by a shot from my carbine, when your precious old fool of a servant, Benito, came galloping up, and of course I had to renounce my design. So you see, the only good action I have ever done, has brought me to grief. Such is the reward of our virtue!”

“Speak for yourself, my droll fellow!” said the Spaniard, whose pride revolted at being thus classed with such company as the outlaw. “But if that could be outraged which does not exist, may I ask what attempt this young man made upon your honour?”

“I do not know myself – it was something that happened with my horse, who has the fault – ”

Cuchillo interrupted himself as one who has made an imprudent speech.

“The fault of stumbling in the left fore-leg?” added Don Estevan. “I see – this old history of the murder of Arellanos.”

“I did not murder him,” cried the outlaw, impudently. “I had reasons not to like him; but I pardoned him, for all that.”

“Oh! you are so magnanimous! But come, an end to these pleasantries. It remains for you to get this young man out of the way. I have my reasons for wishing it so – among others, he knows our secret. I gave you a half onza to save his life. To-day I have different views regarding him; and I promise to give you twenty onzas when I am assured that he is no longer alive.”

“Agreed, Don Estevan; and in to-morrow’s hunt of these wild horses, it will be strange if Tiburcio Arellanos don’t knock his brains out against either a rock or the trunk of a tree, or at least get himself into some corner, where he won’t be able to find his way out again. The only regret I have is, that I shall have to share these twenty onzas with my friends, Baraja and Oroche.”

“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!”

Don Augustin would have risen to accompany his guest to the gates, but the Spaniard would not permit him, and they parted without farther ceremony.

When Don Estevan reached the court-yard, his attendants and domestics were found in readiness to depart. The mules had been packed, and the remuda collected in charge of the driver. The followers, Cuchillo, Baraja, Oroche, and Pedro Diaz were already in their saddles – the last mounted on a magnificent and fiery steed, which told that the generous haciendado had kept his promise.

Chapter Twenty Seven

The Lone Fire in the Forest

The motive for this hasty departure from the hacienda was unknown only to Benito and the other domestics. The cavalier adventurers were aware of its object though two of them, Baraja and Oroche, had no very clear understanding upon the matter. The fumes of the mezcal were still in their heads, and it was with difficulty they could balance themselves in the saddle. They were sensible of their situation, and did their best to conceal it from the eyes of the chief.

“Am I straight in my stirrups?” whispered Oroche addressing himself to Baraja.

“Straight as a bamboo!” replied the other. “Do I appear firm?” inquired he in turn.

“Firm as a rock,” was the response.

Thanks to the efforts they were making to keep themselves upright, Don Estevan, as he glanced over the ranks of his followers, did not observe anything amiss. Cuchillo, however, knowing that they were not in a fit state for inspection regarded them with an anxious glance.

As Don Estevan was about to mount, the outlaw rode up to him, and pointing to the others with an expressive gesture, said, “If your honour desires me to act as guide, and give the order of march, I am ready to enter upon my duties.”

“Very well,” replied Don Estevan, springing into the saddle, “commence at any moment, but let us be gone as soon as possible.”

“Benito!” shouted the newly appointed guide, “take the remuda and recua in advance; you will wait for us at the bridge of the Salto de Agua.”

Benito, with the other attendants, obeyed the order in silence; and the moment after were moving with their respective charges along the road leading to Tubac. A little later the cavalcade rode out of the court-yard of the hacienda, and turning round the wall of the enclosure, guided by Cuchillo, proceeded toward the breach through which Tiburcio had passed. The guide was riding by the side of Don Estevan.

“We have found his traces,” said he to the chief, as they moved forward; “he is down in the forest.”

“Where?”

“Do you see a light yonder shining through the trees?”

The mysterious light was gleaming, just as Tiburcio had first seen it from his window. It was to this that Cuchillo directed the attention of the chief.

“Yes,” replied the latter, “what of it?”

“It is the camp-fire of some travellers; and in all probability the fellow will be found there. So,” continued he, with a hideous smile, “we are going to give chase to a wild colt – which will be better than hunting Don Augustin’s wild horses – and here are the three hunters.”