Chapter 25 - The White Chief by Mayne Reid
“Now, Roblado,” asked the Comandante, “what is the other string to my bow?”
“Can’t you guess, my dear colonel?”
“Not exactly,” replied Vizcarra, though he well knew that he could. It was not long since the other string had been before his mind. He had even thought of it upon the day of his first defeat, and while his anger was hot and revengeful. And since then, too—often, often. His question was quite superfluous, for he well knew Roblado’s answer would be “force.”
It was “force.” That was the very word. “How?”
“Take a few of your people, go by night, and carry her off. What can be more simple? It would have been the proper way at first, with such a prude as she! Don’t fear the result. It’s not so terrible to them. I’ve known it tried before. Long ere the cibolero can return, she’ll be perfectly reconciled, I warrant you.”
“And if not?”
“If not, what have you to fear?”
“The talk, Roblado—the talk.”
“Bah! my dear colonel, you are timid in the matter. You have mismanaged it so far, but that’s no reason you should not use tact for the future. It can be done by night. You have chambers here where no one is allowed to enter—some without windows, if you need them. Who’s to be the wiser? Pick your men—those you can trust. You don’t require a whole troop, and half-a-dozen onzas will tie as many tongues. It’s as easy as stealing a shirt. It is only stealing a chemisette. Ha! ha! ha!” and the ruffian laughed at his coarse simile and coarser joke, in which laugh he was joined by the Comandante.
The latter still hesitated to adopt this extreme measure. Not from any fineness of feeling. Though scarce so rough a villain as his companion, it was not delicacy of sentiment that restrained him now. He had been accustomed all his life to regard with heartless indifference the feelings of those he had wronged; and it was not out of any consideration for the future happiness or misery of the girl that he hesitated now. No, his motive was of a far different character. Roblado said true when he accused him of being timid. He was. It was sheer cowardice that stayed him.
Not that he feared any bodily punishment would ever reach him for the act. He was too powerful, and the relatives of his intended victim too weak, to give him any apprehensions on that score. With a little policy he could administer death,—death to the most innocent of the people,—and give it a show of justice. Nothing was more easy than to cause suspicion of treason, incarcerate, and slay—and particularly at that time, when both Pueblo revolt and Creole revolution threatened the Spanish rule in America.
What Vizcarra feared was “talk.” Such an open rape could not well be kept secret for long. It would leak out, and once out it was too piquant a piece of scandal not to have broad fame: all the town would soon enjoy it. But there was a still more unpleasant probability. It might travel beyond the confines of the settlement, perhaps to high quarters, even to the Vice-regal ear! There find we the secret of the Comandante’s fears.
Not indeed that the Vice-regal court at the time was a model of morality. It would have been lenient enough to any act of despotism or debauchery done in a quiet way; but such an open act of rapine as that contemplated, on the score of policy, could hardly be overlooked. In truth, Vizcarra’s prudence had reason. He could not believe that it would be possible to keep the thing a secret. Some of the rascals employed might in the end prove traitors. True, they would be his own soldiers, and he might punish them for it at his will, but what satisfaction would that give him? It would be locking the stable after the steed had been stolen!
Even without their playing him false, how could he hope to keep the affair concealed? First, there was an angry brother. True, he was out of the way; but there was a jealous lover on the ground, and the brother would return in time. The very act of the rape would point to him, Vizcarra. His visit, the attempt of the “alcahuete,” and the carrying off of the girl, would all be pieced together, and put down to his credit; and the brother—such a one—and such a lover too—would not be silent with their suspicious. He might take measures to get rid of both, but these measures must needs be violent and dangerous.
Thus reasoned Vizcarra with himself, and thus he argued with Roblado. Not that he wished the latter to dissuade him—for the end he desired with all his heart—but in order that by their united wisdom some safer means of reaching it might be devised.
And a safer plan was devised. Roblado, deeper in head, as well as bolder in heart, conceived it. Bringing his glass to the table with a sudden stroke, he exclaimed—
“Vamos, Vizcarra! By the Virgin, I have it!”
“Bueno—bravo!”
“You may enjoy your sweetheart within twenty four hours, if you wish, and the sharpest scandalmonger in the settlement will be foiled; at least, you will have nothing to fear. What a devil of a lucky thought!—the very thing itself, amigo!”
“Don’t keep me in suspense, camarado! your plan! your plan!”
“Stop till I’ve had a gulp of wine. The very thought of such a glorious trick makes me thirsty.”
“Drink then, drink!” cried Vizcarra, filling out the wine, with a look of pleasant anticipation.
Roblado emptied the goblet at a draught, and then, leaning nearer to the Comandante, he detailed what he had conceived in a low and confidential tone. It seemed to satisfy his listener, who, when the other had finished, uttered the word “Bravo!” and sprang to his feet like one who had received some joyful news. He walked back and forth for some minutes in an excited manner, and then, bursting into a loud laugh, he cried out, “Carrambo, comrade! you are a tactician! The great Conde himself would not have shown such strategy. Santisima Virgen! it is the very master-stroke of design; and I promise you, camarado, it shall have speedy execution.”
“Why delay? Why not set about it at once?”
“True,—at once let us prepare for this pleasant masquerade!”