Chapter 29 - Wood Rangers: The Trappers of Sonora by Mayne Reid
Old Souvenirs
“I have said then,” resumed Pepé, after a time, “that I pretended to be always asleep. The ruse succeeded equal to my best expectations, and one night the captain sent for me. Good! said I to myself, there’s an eel under the stone—the captain is going to confide a post to me. Just as I had anticipated he sent me to sleep—at least he thought so—on a most important post; but for all that I did not sleep a wink during the whole of that night.”
Here Pepé paused for a moment, in order to swallow an enormous mouthful of the roast mutton, that hindered the free use of the tongue.
“To be brief, then,” resumed he, “a boat arrived with men, and I permitted it to land. It was only afterwards that I learnt that it was no smuggling business these men were bent upon, but an affair of blood—of murder; and the thought that I was instrumental in aiding the assassins causes me to this hour a feeling of remorse. I did not conceal what I knew. Afterwards I denounced the murderer, by way of atoning for my fault. A trial took place, but as in Spain justice goes to the highest bidder, the assassin was set free, and I became a victim. I was drummed out of my regiment, and transported to the fisheries of Ceuta, on the unhealthy coast of Africa. There I was compelled to remain for many years, till at last having made my escape, after a thousand perilous adventures, I found myself on the prairies of America.”
“It was a rich man then—some powerful person—whom you denounced?”
“Yes; a grand señor. It was the old story of the pot of clay broken against the pot of iron. But the desert here has no distinctions; and, by the Virgin of Atocha! I shall prove that before many suns have gone over my head. Ah! if I only had here a certain alcalde of the name of Don Ramon Cohecho, and his damned friend, one Señor Cagatinta, I fancy I should make them pass an uncomfortable quarter of an hour.”
“Very well, then,” said Bois-Rose, seeing the other had finished his narrative; “very well. I quite approve of your intentions—let the journey to Arispe stand over.”
“It is an old story,” said Pepé, in conclusion; “and if for ten years you have been teaching me to handle a rifle, after many more spent in the usage of a carbine in the service of her Catholic majesty, surely I should be able to manage it now. I think I would scarcely miss an object as large as him whom you have seen at the head of those horsemen journeying towards the hacienda.”
“Yes—yes,” replied the Canadian, with a laugh; “but I remember the time, Pepé, when you missed many a buffalo twice as big as he. Nevertheless, I fancy I have made a passable shot of you at last, although you still persist in mistaking the ear of an otter for his eye, which always depreciates the value of the skin. Well, you know that I myself was not brought up on the prairies. I was a sailor for many long years; and perhaps I should have continued one but for—a sad event—a melancholy affair—but what good is there in speaking of that which is no more. Let the past be past! I find the life of the desert something like that on the ocean—once a man has got used to it he cannot easily quit it.”
“Yes,” rejoined Pepé; “the life of the forest and prairie has its charms, and for my part—”
“Hush!” whispered the Canadian, interrupting the speech of his comrade and placing himself in an attitude to listen. “I heard a rustle among the branches. Other ears than mine may be listening to you.”
Pepé cast a glance in the direction whence the sounds had been heard. The dark form of a man was perceived among the trees coming from the direction of the hacienda.
It was evident that the man was not trying to approach by stealth, for his form was erect and he made no attempt to conceal himself behind the branches.
This would have freed the mind of Pepé from all suspicion, but for the circumstance that the stranger appeared to be coming direct from the hacienda.
“Who goes there?” he hailed in a loud tone, as the dark shadow was seen entering the glade.
“One who seeks an asylum by your fire,” was the ready reply, delivered in rather a feeble voice.
“Shall we allow him to come on? or beg him to continue his journey?” muttered Pepé to the Canadian.
“God forbid we should deny him! Perhaps they have refused him a lodging up at the house; and that voice, which I think I have heard before, plainly denotes that he is fatigued—perhaps ill.”
“Come on, Señor!” called out Pepé, without hesitating farther; “you are welcome to our fire and our mess; come on!”
At this invitation the stranger advanced. It is needless to say that it was Tiburcio Arellanos, whose cheeks as he came within the light of the fire betrayed by their paleness the traces of some violent emotion, or else of some terrible malady. This pallor, however, was partly caused by the blood which he had lost in the conflict with Cuchillo.
As soon as the features of Tiburcio came fairly under the light, the trappers recognised him as the young man they had met at La Poza; but the ex-carabinier was struck with some idea which caused him to make an involuntary gesture. The Canadian, on the other hand, regarded the new-comer with that expression of condescending kindness which age often bestows upon youth.
“Have you parted with the gentlemen in whose company we saw you?” asked Pepé of Tiburcio.
“Yes.”
“Perhaps you are not aware that there is a house close by. I do not know the owner, but I fancy he would not refuse you a night’s lodging, and he could entertain you better than we. Perhaps,” continued he, observing that Tiburcio made no reply, “you have been up to the house already?”
“I have,” answered Tiburcio. “I have no reproach to make against its owner, Don Augustin Peña; he has not refused me hospitality; but there are other guests under his roof with whom my life is not safe.”
“Oh, that!” exclaimed Pepé, appearing to become more interested; “has anything happened to you?”
Tiburcio lifted his serapé, exhibiting the wound in his right arm from which the blood was yet oozing.
Both Pepé and the Canadian rose hastily to their feet and stepped forward to examine the wound. Having done so, they immediately set about dressing it, which they effected with as much dexterity and despatch as might have been shown by practised surgeons; at the same time the rude physiognomy of each was marked by an expression of interest almost amounting to tenderness. While the Canadian kept bathing the wound with water from his canteen, Pepé proceeded into the woods in search of a peculiar plant noted for its healing properties. This plant was the oregano. Presently he returned, bringing with him several slices which he had cut from the succulent stem of the plant; the pulp of these, mashed between two stones, was placed over the wound, and then secured by Tiburcio’s own scarf of China crape wound several times around the arm; nothing more could be done than await the effect of the application.
“Now,” said the Canadian, “you will soon feel better. There is no danger of inflammation—nothing beats the oregano for preventing that, and you need not be afraid of fever. Meanwhile, if you feel inclined, there’s a bit of roast mutton and a glass of eau de vie at your service; after which you had best lie down by the fire and take some sleep—for I can see that you’re weary.”
“In truth,” replied Tiburcio, “I am fatigued. I thank you for your offer, but I do not feel inclined either to eat or drink; I have more need of sleep, and with your permission shall try and get some. One request I would make of you: that you will not permit me to sleep too long; there are reasons why I should soon be awake again.”
“Very well,” said Pepé; “we don’t want your reasons. If you wish us to watch the hacienda, I beg you will only say so, and you shall have two pair of good eyes at your service; therefore make your mind easy, and sleep without fear of any enemy coming upon you unawares.”
Tiburcio stretched himself upon the grass, and overcome by fatigue and the many violent emotions he had that day experienced, soon fell into a lethargic slumber.
For some time Bois-Rose sat regarding the sleeper in silence, but with an air of strange interest.
“What age do you think he is?” he at length inquired of his comrade.
“Twenty-four, I should fancy,” replied the ex-coast-guard.
“Just what I was thinking,” said the Canadian, speaking in a tone of half soliloquy, while a melancholy expression appeared to tone down his rude physiognomy. “Yes, just the age he ought to be if still alive.”
“He! who are you talking of?” brusquely interrupted his companion, in whose heart the words of the Canadian seemed to find an echo.
“No matter,” said Bois-Rose, still speaking in a tone of melancholy; “the past is past; and when it has not been as one would have wished it, it is better forgotten. But come! let us have done with idle regrets and finish our supper—such souvenirs always spoil my appetite.”
“The same with me,” agreed Pepé, as he seized hold of a large mutton-bone, and commenced an attack upon it in a fashion that proved that his appetite was not yet quite gone.
After a while Pepé again broke the silence.
“If I had the pleasure,” said he, “of a personal acquaintance with this Don Augustin Peña, who appears to be the proprietor here, I would compliment him upon the fine quality of his mutton; and if I thought his horses were of as good a sort, I think I should be tempted to borrow one—one horse would never be missed out of the great herds we have seen galloping about, no more than a sheep out of his vast flocks; and to me a good horse would be a treasure.”
“Very well,” said the Canadian. “If you feel inclined for a horse, you had better have one; it will be no great loss to the owner, and may be useful to us. If you go in search of one, I can keep watch over this young fellow, who sleeps as if he hadn’t had a wink for the last month.”
“Most probably no one will come after him; nevertheless, Bois-Rose, keep your eye open till I return. If anything happens, three howls of the coyote will put me on my guard.”
As he said this, Pepé took up a lazo that lay near, and turning his face in the direction in which he was most likely to find a drove of horses, he walked off into the woods.
Bois-Rose was left alone. Having thrown some dry branches upon the fire, in order to produce a more vivid light, he commenced regarding anew the young man who was asleep; but after a while spent in this way he stretched himself alongside the prostrate body, and appeared also to slumber.
The night-breeze caused the foliage to rustle over the heads of these two men, as they lay side by side. Neither had the least suspicion that they were here re-united by strange and providential circumstances—that twenty years before, they had lain side by side—then lulled to sleep by the sound of the ocean, just as now by the whispering murmurs of the forest.