Chapter 33 - The White Chief by Mayne Reid
“By the Virgin, it is he!” exclaimed Roblado, with a look of astonishment and alarm. “The fellow himself, as I live!”
“I knew it!—I knew it!” shrieked Vizcarra. “I saw him on the cliff: it was no vision!”
“Where can he have come from? In the name of all the saints, where has the fellow—”
“Roblado, I must go below! I must go in, I will not stay to meet him! I cannot!”
“Nay, colonel, better let him speak with us. He has seen and recognised you already. If you appear to shun him, it will arouse suspicion. He has come to ask our help to pursue the Indians; and that’s his errand, I warrant you!”
“Do you think so?” inquired Vizcarra, partially recovering his self-possession at this conjecture.
“No doubt of it! What else? He can have no suspicion of the truth. How is it possible he could, unless he were a witch, like his mother? Stay where you are, and let us hear what he has got to say. Of course, you can talk to him from the azotea, while he remains below. If he show any signs of being insolent, as he has already been to both of us, let us have him arrested, and cooled a few hours in the calabozo. I hope the fellow will give us an excuse for it, for I haven’t forgotten his impudence at the fiesta.”
“You are right, Roblado; I shall stay and heur him. It will be better, I think, and will allay any suspicion. But, as you say, he can have none!”
“On the contrary, by your giving him the aid he is about to ask you for, you may put him entirely off the scent—make him your friend, in fact. Ha! ha!”
The idea was plausible, and pleased Vizcarra. He at once determined to act upon it.
This conversation had been hurriedly carried on, and lasted but a few moments—from the time the approaching horseman had been first seen, until he drew up under the wall.
For the last two hundred yards he had ridden slowly, and with an air of apparent respect—as though he feared it might be deemed rude to approach the place of power by any swaggering exhibition of horsemanship. On his fine features traces of grief might be observed, but not one sign of the feeling that was at that moment uppermost in his heart.
As he drew near, he raised his sombrero in a respectful salute to the two officers, whose heads and shoulders were just visible over the parapet; and having arrived within a dozen paces of the wall, he reined up, and, taking off his hat again, waited to be addressed.
“What is your business?” demanded Roblado.
“Cavalleros! I wish to speak with the Comandante.”
This was delivered in the tone of one who is soon to ask a favour. It gave confidence to Vizcarra, as well as to the bolder villain—who, notwithstanding all his assurances to the contrary, had still some secret misgivings about the cibolero’s errand. Now, however, it was clear that his first conjecture was correct; Carlos had come to solicit their assistance.
“I am he!” answered Vizcarra, now quite recovered from his fright, “I am the Comandante. What have you to communicate, my man?”
“Your excellency, I have a favour to ask;” and the cibolero again saluted with an humble bow.
“I told you so,” whispered Roblado to his superior. “All safe, my colonel.”
“Well, my good fellow,” replied Vizcarra, in his usual haughty and patronising manner, “let me hear it. If not unreasonable—”
“Your excellency, it is a very heavy favour I would ask, but I hope not unreasonable. I am sure that, if it do not interfere with your manifold duties, you will not refuse to grant it, as the interest and trouble you have already taken in the cause are but too well-known.”
“Told you so,” muttered Roblado a second time.
“Speak out, man!” said Vizcarra, encouragingly; “I can only give an answer when I have heard your request.”
“It is this, your excellency. I am but a poor cibolero.”
“You are Carlos the cibolero! I know you.”
“Yes, your excellency, we have met—at the fiesta of San Juan—”
“Yes, yes! I recollect your splendid horsemanship.”
“Your excellency is kind to call it so. It does not avail me now. I am in great trouble!”
“What has befallen? Speak out, man.” Both Vizcarra and Roblado guessed the purport of the cibolero’s request. They desired that it should be heard by the few soldiers lounging about the gate and for that reason they spoke in a loud tone themselves, anxious that their petitioner might do the same.
Not to oblige them, but for reasons of his own, Carlos replied in a loud voice. He, too, wished the soldiers, but more particularly the sentry at the gate, to hear what passed between himself and the officers. “Well, your excellency,” replied he, “I live in a poor rancho, the last in the settlement, with my old mother and sister. The night before last it was attacked by a party of Indians—my mother left for dead—the rancho set on fire—and my sister carried off!”
“I have heard of all this, my friend,—nay, more, I have myself been out in pursuit of the savages.”
“I know it, your excellency. I was absent on the Plains, and only returned last night. I have heard that your excellency was prompt in pursuing the savages, and I feel grateful.”
“No need of that; I only performed my duty. I regret the occurrence, and sympathise with you; but the villains have got clear off, and there is no hope of bringing them to punishment just now. Perhaps some other time—when the garrison here is strengthened—I shall make an incursion into their country, and then your sister may be recovered.”
So completely had Vizcarra been deceived by the cibolero’s manner, that his confidence and coolness had returned, and any one knowing nothing more of the affair than could be gathered from that conversation would have certainly been deceived by him. This dissimulation both in speech and manner appeared perfect. By the keen eye of Carlos, however—with his knowledge of the true situation—the tremor of the speaker’s lips, slight as it was—his uneasy glance—and an occasional hesitancy in his speech, were all observed. Though Carlos was deceiving him, he was not deceiving Carlos.
“What favour were you going to ask?” he inquired, after he had delivered his hopeful promise.
“This, your excellency; that you would allow your troops to go once more on the trail of the robbers, either under your own command—which I would much like—or one of your brave officers.” Roblado felt flattered. “I would act as guide, your excellency. There is not a spot within two hundred miles I am not acquainted with, as well as I am with this valley; and though I should not say it, I assure your excellency, I can follow an Indian trail with any hunter on the Plains. If your excellency will but send the troop, I promise you I shall guide them to the robbers, or lose my reputation. I can follow their trail wherever it may lead.”
“Oh! you could, indeed?” said Vizcarra, exchanging a significant glance with Roblado, while both exhibited evident symptoms of uneasiness.
“Yes, your excellency, anywhere.”
“It would be impossible,” said Roblado. “It is now two days old; besides, we followed it beyond the Pecos, and we have no doubt the robbers are by this time far out of reach, of any pursuit. It would be quite useless to attempt such a thing.”
“Cavalleros!”—Carlos addressed himself to both—“I assure you I could find them. They are not so far off.”
Both the Comandante and his captain started, and visibly turned pale. The cibolero did not affect to notice this.
“Nonsense! my good fellow!” stammered Roblado; “they are—at least—hundreds of miles off by this—away over the Staked Plain—or to—to the mountains.”
“Pardon me, captain, for differing with you; but I believe I know these Indians—I know to what tribe they belong.”
“What tribe?” simultaneously inquired the officers, both with an earnestness of manner and a slight trepidation in their voices; “what tribe?—Were they not Yutas?”
“No,” answered the cibolero, while he observed the continued confusion of his questioners.
“Who, then?”
“I believe,” replied Carlos, “they were not Yutas—more likely my sworn foes, the Jicarillas.”
“Quite possible!” assented both in a breath, and evidently relieved at the enunciation.
“Quite possible!” repeated Roblado. “From the description given us by the people who saw them, we had fancied they were the Yutas. It may be a mistake, however. The people were so affrighted, they could tell but little about them. Besides, the Indians were only seen in the night.”
“Why think you they are the Jicarillas?” asked the Comandante, once more breathing freely.
“Partly because there were so few of them,” replied Carlos. “Had they been Yutas—”
“But they were not so few. The shepherds report a large band. They have carried off immense numbers of cattle. There must have been a considerable force of them, else they would not have ventured into the valley—that is certain.”
“I am convinced, your excellency, there could not have been many. A small troop of your brave soldiers would be enough to bring back both them and their booty.”
Here the lounging lanzeros erected their dwarfish bodies, and endeavoured to look taller.
“If they were Jicarillas,” continued Carlos, “I should not need to follow their trail. They are not in the direction of the Llano. If they have gone that way, it was to mislead you in the pursuit. I know where they are at this moment—in the mountains.”
“Ha! you think they are in the mountains?”
“I am sure of it; and not fifty miles from here. If your excellency would but send a troop, I could guide it direct to the spot, and without following the trail they have taken out of the valley—which I believe was only a false one.”
The Comandante and Roblado drew back from the parapet, and for some minutes talked together in a low tone.
“It would look well,” muttered Roblado; “in fact, the very thing you want. The trump cards seem to drop right into your hands. You send a force at the request of this fellow, who is a nobody here. You do him a service, and yourself at the same time. It will tell well, I warrant you.”
“But for him to act as guide?”
“Let him! So much the better—that will satisfy all parties. He won’t find his Jicarillas,—ha! ha ha!—of course; but let the fool have his whim!”
“But suppose, camarado, he falls upon our trail?—the cattle?”
“He is not going in that direction; besides, if he did, we are not bound to follow such trails as he may choose for us; but he has said he is not going that way—he don’t intend to follow a trail. He knows some nest of these Jicarillas in the mountains,—like enough; and to rout them—there’s a bit of glory for some one. A few scalps would look well over the gate. It hasn’t had a fresh ornament of that sort since we’ve been here! What say you? It’s but a fifty-mile ride.”
“I have no objection to the thing—it would look well; but I shall not go myself. I don’t like being along with the fellow out there or anywhere else—you can understand that feeling, I suppose?”
Here the Comandante looked significantly at his companion.
“Oh! certainly—certainly,” replied the latter.
“You may take the troop; or, if you are not inclined, send Garcia or the sergeant with them.”
“I’ll go myself,” replied Roblado. “It will be safer. Should the cibolero incline to follow certain trails, I can lead him away from them, or refuse—yes it will be better for me to go myself. By my soul! I want to have a brush with these redskins. I hope to bring back some ‘hair,’ as they say. Ha ha! ha!”
“When would you start?”
“Instantly—the sooner the better. That will be more agreeable to all parties, and will prove our promptitude and patriotism. Ha! ha! ha!”
“You had better give the sergeant his orders to get the men ready, while I make our cibolero happy.”
Roblado hastened down from the azotea, and the next moment the bugle was heard sounding “boots and saddles.”