Майн Рид
The Tiger Hunter
Chapter Seventy Seven.
The Pursuit
Only for a very short interval did the shores of the lake Ostuta preserve their tranquil silence. In a few moments after the white robe had disappeared from the eyes of Don Cornelio, he saw Costal and Clara rise to the surface of the water, and make their way rapidly through the reeds in the direction of the bank. Presently both appeared on dry land at less than a hundred yards distance from where he was perched.
The tragedy of real life which he was now witnessing, had so suddenly mingled its scenes with the fancies that had just passed through his mind, that for an instant his thoughts were thrown into confusion, and he could scarcely distinguish the true from the fantastic. Though he saw that his faithful followers were still alive and well, the words he had heard, and the shot that succeeded them, told him that they were in danger. That could be no fancy; and its reality was further confirmed on his perceiving two men, sabre in hand, rush forth out of the bushes and make after Costal and Clara, with threatening cries and gestures.
The latter ran towards their horses. The sight of his two followers in flight, completely restored Don Cornelio’s senses; and almost mechanically he caught hold of his carbine, which he had by his side.
Resting the barrel over a fork of the branches, he sighted one of the pursuers, and fired. At the report a bandit fell forward on his face, who, after sprawling a while upon the ground, lay motionless. The other halted and bent over his comrade to see if he was dead.
The delay caused by this unexpected interruption of the pursuit enabled the Indian and negro to reach their horses, and both, naked as they were, their skins glistening with the water of the lake, at once leaped into their saddles, wheeled their horses round, and galloped back towards the pursuers.
It was now Costal’s turn to pursue.
The bandit who still kept his feet had stopped only a moment over his fallen companion: but that moment proved fatal to him. Before he could reach his own horse – which, in order to effect his ambuscade, he had left behind him in the woods – the avenging Zapoteque was upon him, who, galloping over, trampled him under his horse’s hoofs, and then riding back, ran his long rapier through the prostrate body without dismounting from his saddle.
Meanwhile Don Cornelio had made all haste to descend from the tree; and hurrying forward called his followers by name.
“Ah! Señor Capitan,” cried Costal, seeing him advance, “I am glad you are still on your feet. Seeing your horse along with ours I had fears that some misfortune had happened to you. Quick!” continued he, addressing himself to Clara, and leaping out of the saddle, “we must back to the lake at once, else Matlacuezc – . Señor Don Cornelio, you will be good enough to wait for us here. We have important matters on hand, and need to be alone.”
At this moment, however, a new incident arose to interrupt the designs of Costal. Five horsemen, and a litera carried by mules, appeared suddenly in the open ground by the edge of the wood. It was Don Mariano with his domestics.
Having heard Don Cornelio pronounce the well-known names of two of his old servitors, the haciendado had advanced in the direction whence the voice proceeded, full of hope in this unexpected succour which heaven seemed to have sent to him. He had seen the party of brigands as they rode past with the torches; and his people had easily recognised their old fellow-servants, Arroyo and Bocardo. It was a relief to know that two more faithful than they – Costal and Clara – were in the same neighbourhood. He advanced, therefore, calling them by name, while he also pronounced the name of Lantejas – asking if it were the Don Cornelio Lantejas who had once been his guest at the hacienda of Las Palmas.
“Yes; certainly I am the same,” replied the Captain, agreeably surprised at thus finding himself among friends in a place which, up to that moment, had appeared to him so melancholy and desolate.
Before any conversation could take place between Don Cornelio and his former host, an incident of a still more thrilling character was to be enacted on the scene. From behind the belt of the cedrela forest – into which Arroyo and his followers had ridden but a few minutes before – six horsemen were seen debouching at full gallop, as if riding for their lives; while close upon their heels came six others, who appeared straining after them in eager pursuit!
For a moment the six in front seemed to waver in their course – as if undecided as to what direction they should take. Only for a moment, however, and then heading their horses along the shore of the lake, they pressed on in wildest flight. Galloping at such a rapid pace they appeared not to see either the party of Don Mariano or Don Cornelio and his two followers – who on their part had scarce time to draw back into the bushes, ere the horsemen went sweeping past the spot like a cloud of dust.
Despite the rapidity of their course, however, the keen eye of Costal enabled him to distinguish among the horsemen two of his old fellow-servants of Las Palmas – Arroyo and Bocardo.
“We are on dangerous ground here, comrade,” said he in a whisper to Clara. “It is Arroyo and Bocardo, pursued, no doubt, by the royalists. Whichever wins it is no good for us.”
He had scarce finished his speech, when the six horsemen in pursuit passed the group, going at a pace not less rapid and furious than the others. One of the pursuers, of commanding figure, was several lengths ahead of the other five. Bent down almost to the level of his horse’s neck, he appeared to be straining every muscle in the pursuit; and although his horse seemed rather to fly than gallop, the rider still kept urging him with the spur.
Clutching convulsively his broad-brimmed sombrero – which the rapid course had lifted from his head – he crushed it down over his brows in such a manner that his face was almost hidden by it. His horse at the same instant, whether frightened by the litera of Gertrudis, or by some other object, shied suddenly to one side – as he did so giving utterance to a strange snorting sound, which was responded to by a feeble cry from behind the curtains of the litera.
The cry was not heard by the horseman, who, absorbed with the pursuit of his enemy, passed on without turning his head.
Gertrudis was not the only one who trembled with emotion on recognising the snort of the steed. It brought vividly to the remembrance of Captain Lantejas the chase he had sustained on the plain of Huajapam – just before the powerful arm of Colonel Tres-Villas had lifted him out of his stirrups.
Neither could Don Mariano fail to recognise the peculiarity of a steed that he had so long kept in his stables; and as for the rider, the figure appeared to answer for that of Don Rafael. Could it indeed be he whom they believed to be at the siege of Huajapam? Don Mariano could scarce doubt that it was Colonel Tres-Villas who had ridden past.
“By all the devils in hell!” cried Costal, swearing like a pagan, as he was; “what has set the world mad on this particular night? What sends everybody this way, to interrupt the worshippers of the great Tlaloc?”
“True, it is damnably vexatious,” rejoined Clara, who was equally chagrined at this sudden and unexpected intrusion, upon what he regarded as the only chance they might ever have of an interview with the gold-finding goddess.
Putting off their invocations to a more favourable opportunity, both Indian and negro now hastened away to dress and arm themselves, in order that they might be in readiness for any untoward event; while Don Cornelio stayed beside the haciendado and his party.
As yet uncertain how to act, Don Mariano thought it better to remain where he was, and await the result of an action which he could not regard otherwise than with anxiety. It is needless to say that the occupant of the litera listened with still more vivid emotion, mingled with deep apprehension, to the sounds that rung back along the shores of the lake.
The chase was soon too distant to be witnessed by the eye, but upon the still night air could be heard confused cries of terror and vengeance – which indicated to all that the pursuers were closing rapidly upon the pursued.
Chapter Seventy Eight.
Vengeance Forborne
By a lucky accident Don Rafael, after leaving the hacienda of San Carlos, had ascertained that the bandit chieftains were no longer within its walls. He had also learnt the object that had carried them out – the same which was influencing himself, only from a far different motive. A renegade guerillero had made known to him the intentions of Arroyo in regard to Doña Marianita; and it is needless to say that the noble spirit of Don Rafael was, on hearing this report, only the more stimulated to overtake and destroy the bandit chieftain.
Guided by numerous signs – which the bandits, unsuspicious of being pursued, had left along their track – Don Rafael and his party found no difficulty in following them, almost at full speed. In less than an hour after leaving the hacienda, they had arrived within sight of Arroyo and his followers – still continuing the search for Doña Marianita, along the borders of the lake. The impetuosity of Don Rafael’s vengeance had hindered him from using caution in his approach – else he might at once have come hand to hand with the detested enemy. As it was, he had advanced towards them into the open ground; and going at full gallop, under the clear moonlight, his party had been discovered by the bandits long before they could get within shot range. Arroyo, from whose thoughts the terrible Colonel was never for a moment absent, at once recognised him at the head of the approaching troop, and, giving the alarm to Bocardo – who equally dreaded an encounter with Don Rafael – the two brigands put spurs to their horses and rode off in dastardly flight. Of course they were followed by their four comrades, who, recalling the fate of Panchita Jolas, had no desire to risk the reception of a similar treatment.
The sight of that hated enemy – for whom Don Rafael had so long fruitlessly searched – stirred within him all the angry energies of his nature, and, involuntarily uttering a wild cry, he charged forward in pursuit.
At each moment the space between pursuers and pursued appeared to be diminishing, and Arroyo – notwithstanding a certain brute courage which he possessed while combating with other enemies – now felt his heart beating convulsively against his ribs as he perceived the probability of being overtaken by his dreaded pursuer.
For a moment there appeared a chance of his being able to save himself. The troopers of Don Rafael, not so well mounted as their chief, had fallen behind him several lengths of his horse; and had Arroyo at this moment faced about with his followers, they might have surrounded the Colonel, and attacked him all at once.
Arroyo even saw the opportunity; but terror had chased away his habitual presence of mind; and he permitted this last chance to escape him. He was influenced, perhaps, by his knowledge of the terrible prowess of his enemy; and despaired of being able to crush him in so short a time as would pass before his troopers could come up to his assistance.
The pursued party had now reached the eastern extremity of the lake. Before them stretched a vast plain, entirely destitute of timber or other covering. Only to the left appeared the outlines of a tract of chapparal, or low forest.
The bandits, on looking forward, saw at a glance that the open ground would give them no advantage. Their horses might be swifter than those of their pursuers, but this was doubtful; and from the snorting heard at intervals behind them, they knew that one at least was capable of overtaking them. The bright moonlight enabled the pursuers to keep them in view – almost as if it had been noonday; and on the broad, treeless savanna, no hiding-place could be found. Their only hope then lay in being able to reach the timber, and finding concealment within the depths of the forest jungle.
To accomplish this, however, it would be necessary for them to swerve to the left, which would give the pursuers an advantage; but there was no help for it, and Arroyo – whom fear had now rendered irresolute – rather mechanically than otherwise, turned towards the left, and headed for the chapparal.
Despite the fiery passions that agitated him, Don Rafael still preserved his presence of mind. Watching with keen glance every gesture of the bandits, he had anticipated this movement on their parts; and, even before they had obliqued to the left, he had himself forged farther out into the plain, with a view of cutting them off from the woods. On perceiving them change the direction of their flight, he had also swerved to the left; and was now riding in a parallel line, almost head for head with Arroyo and Bocardo; while the shadow of himself and his horse, far projected by the declining moon, fell ominously across their track.
In a few seconds more the snorting steed was in the advance, and his shadow fell in front of Arroyo. A sudden turn to the right brought Roncador within a spear’s length of the bandit’s horse, and the pursuit was at an end.
“Carajo!” cried Arroyo, with a fierce emphasis, at the same time discharging his pistol at the approaching pursuer.
But the bullet, ill-aimed, passed the head of Don Rafael without hitting; and the instant after, his horse, going at full speed, was projected impetuously against the flanks of that of the bandit, bringing both horse and rider to the ground.
Bocardo, unable to restrain his animal, was carried forward against his will; and now became between Don Rafael and his prostrate foe.
“Out of the way, vile wretch!” exclaimed Don Rafael, while with one blow of his sabre hilt, he knocked Bocardo from his saddle.
Arroyo, chilled with terror, and rendered almost senseless by the fall, his spurs holding him fast to the saddle, vainly struggled to regain his feet. Before he could free himself from his struggling horse, the troopers of Don Rafael had ridden up, and with drawn sabres halted over him; while his four followers, no longer regarded, continued their wild flight towards the chapparal.
Don Rafael now dismounted, and with his dagger held between his teeth, seized in both his hands the wrists of the bandit. In vain Arroyo struggled to free himself from that iron grasp; and in another moment he lay upon his back, the knee of Don Rafael pressing upon his breast – heavy as a rock that might have fallen from Monopostiac. The bandit, with his arms drawn crosswise, saw that resistance was vain; and yielding himself to despair he lay motionless – rage and fear strangely mingling in the expression of his features.
“Here!” cried Don Rafael, “some one tie this wretch!”
In the twinkling of an eye, one of the troopers wound his lazo eight or ten times around the arms and legs of the prostrate guerillero, and firmly bound them together.
“Now, then!” continued Don Rafael, “let him be attached to the tail of my horse!”
Notwithstanding the terrible acts of retaliation, which the royalist soldiers were accustomed to witness, after each victory on one side or the other, this order was executed in the midst of the most profound silence. They knew the fearful nature of the punishment about to be inflicted.
In a few seconds’ time the end of the lazo, which bound the limbs of the brigand, was tightly looped around the tail of the horse; and Don Rafael had leaped back into his saddle.
Before using the spur, he cast behind him one last look of hatred upon the murderer of his father; while a smile of contempt upon his lips was the only reply which he vouchsafed to the assassin’s appeal for mercy.
“Craven! you need not ask for life!” he said, after a time. “Antonio Valdez met his death in the same fashion, like yourself meanly begging for mercy. You shall do as he did. I promised it when I met you at the hacienda Las Palmas, and I shall now keep my word.”
As Don Rafael finished speaking, his spurs were heard striking against the flanks of his horse, that, apparently dismayed at the awful purpose for which he was to be used, reared violently upon his hind legs, and refused to advance! At the same instant the bandit uttered a wild cry of agony, which resounded far over the lake, till it rang in echoes from the sides of the enchanted mountain. Like an echo, too, came the strange snorting from the nostrils of Roncador, who, at a second pricking of the spur, made one vast bound forward, and then suddenly stopped trembling and affrighted. The body of the bandit, suddenly jerked forward, had fallen back heavily to the earth, while groans of agony escaped from his quivering lips.
Just at this moment – this fearful crisis for the guerilla leader – two men were seen running towards the spot, and with all the speed that their legs were capable of making. It was evident that they were in search of Don Rafael with some message of great importance.
“A word with you, Colonel, in the name of God!” cried one of them, as soon as they were near enough to be heard. “For Heaven’s sake do not ride off till we have spoken to you. My companion and I have had the worst of luck in trying to find you.”
The man who spoke, and who had exhausted his last breath in the words, was no other than the veritable Juan el Zapote, while his companion was the honest Gaspar.
“Who are these men?” indignantly inquired Don Rafael. “Ah! it is you, my brave fellows?” continued he, softening down, as he recognised the two adventurers whom he had met in the forest, and whose advice had proved so advantageous to him. “What do you want with me? You see I am engaged at present, and have no time to attend to you?”
“True!” replied Juan el Zapote. “We see your honour is occupied; and that we have arrived at an inconvenient time! Ah! it is the Señor Arroyo with whom you are engaged! But your honour must know that we have a message for you, and have been running after you for twenty-four hours, without being able to deliver it. It is one of life and death.”
“Mercy! mercy!” shrieked Arroyo, in a tone of piteous appeal.
“Hold your tongue, you stupid!” cried Juan el Zapote, reproachfully addressing his former chief. “Don’t you see that the Colonel has business with us? You are hindering him from attending to it.”
“A message of life and death!” repeated Don Rafael, his heart suddenly bounding with a triumphant hope. “From whom do you come?”
“Will your honour direct your people to step aside?” whispered Zapote. “It is a confidential mission with which we are charged – a love message,” added he, in a still lower tone.
By a commanding gesture of the Colonel – for the communications of Zapote had deprived him of the power of speech – the troopers moved off to one side, and he was left alone with the messengers – to whom he now bent downwards from his saddle, in order that their words might not be heard.
What they said to him need not be repeated: enough to know that when their message was finally delivered it appeared to produce a magical effect upon the Colonel, who was heard to give utterance to a stifled cry of joy.
Holding by one hand the withers of his horse – which he appeared to need as a support to hinder him from falling out of his saddle – with the other he was observed to conceal something in the breast of his coat, apparently a packet which the messengers had handed to him. They, in their turn, were seen to bound joyfully over the ground at some word which Don Rafael had spoken to them, and which seemed to have produced on Zapote an effect resembling the dance of Saint Vitus.
In another moment the Colonel drew his dagger from its sheath, and called out in a voice loud enough to be heard by all: – “God does not will that this man should die. He has sent these men as the saviours of his life. I acknowledge the hand of God!”
And forgetting that he held in his power his most mortal foe, the murderer of his father – forgetting his oath, no more to be remembered amidst the delicious emotions that filled his heart – remembering only the promise of mercy he had made to Gertrudis, herself – he leant back over the croup of his saddle, and cut the lazo by which the brigand was attached to the tail of his horse.
Disdaining to listen to the outpouring of thanks which the craven wretch now lavished upon him, he turned once more towards the messengers.
“Where is she who sent you?” inquired he in a low voice.
“There!” answered Zapote, pointing to a group of horsemen who at that moment were seen advancing along the shore as the escort to a litera which appeared in their midst.
Roncador, freed from the human body, which attached to his tail had so frightened him, no longer refused to obey the spur; and in another moment he was bounding in the direction where the curtains of the litera of Gertrudis were seen undulating under the last rays of the waning moon.
