Chapter 37 - The White Chief by Mayne Reid
Roblado’s arrival brought relief to Vizcarra, as he lay chafing and fretting.
Their conversation was, of course, upon the late occurrence, and Roblado gave his account of the pursuit.
“And do you really think,” inquired the Comandante, “that the fellow had a party of savages with him?”
“No!” answered Roblado. “I did think so at first—that is, the men thought so, and I was deceived by their reports. I am now convinced they were not Indian bravos, but some of those Tagno friends of his: for it appears the padré was right—he had a suspicious connexion. That of itself might have been sufficient cause for us to have arrested him long ago; but now we need no cause. He is ours, when we can catch him.”
“How do you propose to act?”
“Why, I have no doubt he will lead us a long chase. We must do the best we can to follow his trail. I came back to provision the men so that we can keep on for a sufficient time. The rascals have gone out of the valley by the upper pass, and perhaps have taken to the mountains. So thinks Gomez. We shall have to follow, and endeavour to overtake them. We must send express to the other settlements, so that the cibolero may be captured if he make his appearance in any of them. I don’t think he will attempt that.”
“Why?”
“Why! because it appears the old witch is still alive! and, moreover, he will hang around here so long as he has any hopes of recovering the sister.”
“Ha! you are right; he will do so. He will never leave me till she—”
“So much the better; we shall have all the finer opportunity of laying hands on him, which, believe me, my dear colonel, will be no easy matter. The fellow will be watchful as a wolf, and on that superb horse of his can escape from our whole troop. We’ll have to capture him by some stratagem.”
“Can you think of none?”
“I have been thinking of one.”
“What?”
“Why, it is simply this—in the first place, for the reasons I have given, the fellow will hang around the settlement. He may visit now and then the old hechicera, but not often. The other would be a better decoy.”
“You mean her?” Vizcarra indicated the direction of the room in which Rosita was confined.
“I do. He is said to be foolishly fond of this sister. Now, were she in a place where he could visit her, I’ll warrant he would come there; and then we could trap him at our pleasure.”
“In a place!—where?” eagerly demanded Vizcarra.
“Why, back to her own neighbourhood. They’ll find some residence. If you will consent to let her go for a while, you can easily recover her—the more easily when we have settled with him!”
“Consent, Roblado!—it is the very thing I desire above all things. My mind will not be easy while she is here. We are both in danger if such a report should get in circulation. If it should reach certain ears, we are ruined—are we not?”
“Why, now there is some truth in what you say, Garcia’s death must be reported, and the cause will be inquired into. We must have our story as plausible as it can be made. There must be no colour of a suspicion—no rumour! It will be well to get her off our hands for the present.”
“But how—that it is that troubles me—how, without increasing the chances of suspicion? If we send her home, how is it to be explained? That would not be the act of Indians? You said you had some plan?”
“I think I have. But first tell me, colonel, what did you mean by saying she was mad?”
“That she was so; is so still,—so says José,—within the hour, muttering strange incongruities—knows not what is said to her. I tell you, Roblado, it terrified me.”
“You are sure she knows not what is said to her?”
“Sure of it.”
“So much the better. She will then not remember where she is or has been. Now I know that I have a plan—nothing easier than to get her off. She shall go back and tell—if she can tell anything—that she has been in the hands of the Indians! That will satisfy you?”
“But how can it be arranged?”
“My dear Comandante, no difficulty in it. Listen! To-night, or before day in the morning, Gomez and José, in Indian costume as before, can carry her off to some spot which I shall indicate. In the mountains be it. No matter how far off or how near. She may be tied, and found in their company in the morning in such a way as to appear their captive. So much the better if she has recovered her senses enough to think so. Well; I with the troopers, in hunt after the cibolero, will come upon these Indians by accident. A few shots may be fired at sufficient distance to do them no hurt. They will make off, leaving their captive, whom we will rescue and bring back to the town, where she can be delivered out of our hands! Ha! ha! ha! What think you, Comandante, of my scheme?”
“Excellent!” replied Vizcarra, his mind seemingly relieved at the prospect of its execution.
“Why, it would blind the very devil! We shall not only be free from suspicion, but we’ll get credit by it. What! a successful affair with the savages!—rescue of a female captive!—restore her to her friends!—she, too, the sister of the very man who has endeavoured to assassinate you! I tell you, Comandante, the cibolero himself, if that will be any comfort to you, will be humbugged by it! She will swear—if her word be worth anything—that she has been in the hands of los barbaros all the while! She will give the lie even to her own brother!”
“The plan is excellent. It must be done to-night!”
“To-night, of course. As soon as the men have gone to bed, Gomez can start with her. I must give over the idea of following the trail to-day and, in truth, I regard that as idle. Our only chance for taking him will be to set our trap, with her for its bait; and that we can arrange hereafter. Give yourself no farther uneasiness about it. By late breakfast to-morrow I shall make my report to you,—Desperate affair with Jicarillas, or Yutas—several warriors killed—female captive rescued—valiant conduct of troops—recommend Corporal—for promotion, etcetera. Ha! ha! ha!”
The Comandante joined in this laugh, which, perhaps, he would not have done, but that Roblado had already assured him that his wound was not of the slightest danger, and would heal in a couple of weeks.
Roblado had given him assurance of this by calling the doctor a fool, and heaping upon him other opprobrious epithets. The delivery, therefore, from the fear of apprehended death, as well as from the other thought that was torturing him, had restored Vizcarra to a composure he had not enjoyed for the twenty-four hours preceding; and he now began to imbibe, to its full extent, another passion—that of vengeance against the cibolero.
That night, after tattoo had sounded, and the soldiers had retired to their respective quarters, a small mounted party was seen to issue from the gateway of the Presidio, and take a road that led in the direction of the mountains. The party consisted of three individuals. One, closely wrapped, and mounted upon a mule, appeared to be a female. The other two, oddly attired, and fantastically adorned with paint and feathers, might have been taken for a brace of Indian warriors. But they were not Indians. They were Spanish soldiers in Indian disguise. They were Sergeant Gomez and the soldier José in charge of the cibolero’s sister.