Chapter 46 - The White Chief by Mayne Reid
The hearts of both were so agitated that for some moments neither gave utterance to their thoughts. Catalina was the first to speak.
“Your sister?” she inquired.
“She is better. I have had the rancho restored. They have returned to it, and the old scenes seem to have worked a miracle upon her. Her senses came at once, and relapse only at long intervals. I have hopes it will be all well again.”
“I am glad to hear this. Poor child! she must have suffered sadly in the hands of these rude savages.”
“Rude savages! Ay, Catalina, you have styled them appropriately, though you little know of whom you are speaking.”
“Of whom?” echoed the lady, in surprise. Up to this moment even she had no other than the popular and universal belief that Carlos’ sister had been a captive in the hands of the Indians!
“It was partly for this that I have sought an interview to-night. I could not exist without explaining to you my late conduct, which must have appeared to you a mystery. It shall be so no longer. Hear me, Catalina!”
Carlos revealed the horrid plot, detailing every circumstance, to the utter astonishment of his fair companion.
“Oh! fiends! fiends!” she exclaimed; “who could have imagined such atrocity? Who would suppose that on the earth were wretches like these? But that you, dear Carlos, have told me, I could not have believed in such villainy! I knew that both were bad; I have heard many a tale of the vileness of these two men; but this is wickedness beyond the power of fancy! Santisima Madre! what men! what monsters! It is incredible!”
“You know now with what justice I am called a murderer?”
“Oh, dear Carlos! think not of that. I never gave it a thought. I knew you had some cause just and good. Fear not! The world shall yet know all—”
“The world!” interrupted Carlos, with a sneer. “For me there is no world. I have no home. Even among those with whom I have been brought up, I have been but a stranger—a heretic outcast. Now I am worse—a hunted outlaw with a price upon my head, and a good large one too. In truth, I never thought I was worth so much before!” Here a laugh escaped from the speaker; but his merriment was of short duration. He continued—
“No world have I but you, Catalina,—and you no longer except in my heart. I must leave you and go far away. Death—worse than death—awaits me here. I must go hence. I must return to the people from whom my parents are sprung—to our long forgotten kindred. Perhaps there I may find a new home and new friends, but happiness I cannot without you—No, never!”
Catalina was silent, with tearful eyes bent upon the ground. She trembled at the thought that was passing in her mind. She feared to give it expression. But it was no time for the affectation of false modesty, for idle bashfulness; and neither were her characteristics. Upon a single word depended the happiness of her life—of her lover’s. Away with womanly coyness! let the thought be spoken!
She turned toward her lover, took his hand in hers, leant forward till her lips were close to his, and, looking in his face, said in a soft, but firm voice—
“Carlos! is it your wish that I go with you?”
In a moment his arms were around her, and their lips had met.
“O Heavens!” he exclaimed; “is this possible? do I hear aright? Dearest Catalina! It was this I would have proposed, but I dared not do it. I feared to make the proposal, so wild does it seem. What! forsake all for me? Oh, querida! querida! Tell me that this is what your words mean! Say you will go with me!”
“I will!” was the short but firm reply.
“O God! I am too happy—a week of terrible suffering, and I am again happy. But a week ago, Catalina, and I was happy. I had met with a strange adventure, one that promised fortune. I was full of hope—hope of winning you; not you, querida, but your father. Of winning him by gold. See!” Here the speaker held forth his hand filled with shining ore. “It is gold. Of this I have discovered a mine, and I had hoped with it to have rivalled your father in his wealth, and then to have won his consent. Alas! alas! that is now hopeless, but your words have given me new happiness. Think not of the fortune you leave behind. I know you do not, dear Catalina. I shall give you one equal to it—perhaps far greater. I know where this precious trash is to be procured, but I shall tell you all when we have time. To-night—”
He was interrupted by Catalina. Her quick ear had caught a sound that appeared odd to her. It was but a slight rustling among the leaves near the back of the arbour, and might have been caused by the wind, had there been any. But not a breath was stirring. Something else had caused it. What could it be?
After a moment or two both stepped out, and examined the bushes whence the sound was supposed to have proceeded; but nothing was to be seen. They looked around and up towards the garden—there was no appearance of anything that could have caused the noise! It was now much darker than when they had entered the arbour. The moon had gone down, and the silvery light had turned to grey; but it was still clear enough to have distinguished any large object at several yards distance. Catalina could not be mistaken. She had heard a rustling sound to a certainty. Could it have been the dog? Carlos stepped forward on the bridge. It was not—the animal still lay where he had been placed: it could not have been he! What then? Some lizard? perhaps a dangerous serpent?
At all events they would not again enter the arbour but remained standing outside. Still Catalina was not without apprehensions, for she now remembered the loss of the note, and, later still, the shutting of the door, both of which she hastily communicated to her companion.
Hitherto Carlos had paid but little attention to what he believed to be some natural occurrence—the fluttering of a bird which had been disturbed by them, or the gliding of a snake or lizard. But the information now given made a different impression upon him. Used to Indian wiles, he was a ready reasoner, and he perceived at once that there might be something sinister in the sound which had been heard. He resolved, therefore, to examine the ground more carefully.
Once more he proceeded to the back of the arbour, and, dropping to his knees, scanned the grass and bushes. In a moment he raised his head with an exclamation of surprise.
“As I live, Catalina, you were right! Some one has been here, beyond a doubt! Some one has lain on this very spot! Where can they have gone to? By Heaven, it was a woman! Here is the trail of her dress!”
“Vicenza!” exclaimed the lady. “It can be no other—my maid, Vicenza! Dios de mi alma! she has heard every word!”
“No doubt it was Vicenza. She has watched and followed you from the house. What could have tempted her to such an act?”
“Ay de mi! Heaven only knows: her conduct has been very strange of late. It is quite annoying! Dear Carlos!” she continued, changing her tone of regret to one of anxiety, “you must stay no longer. Who knows what she may do? Perhaps summon my father! Perhaps still worse—Santisima Virgen! may it not be!”
Here Catalina hastily communicated the fact of Vicenza’s intimacy with the soldier José, as well as other circumstances relating to the girl, and urged upon her lover the necessity of instant departure.
“I shall go then,” said he. “Not that I much fear them; it is too dark for their carbines, and their sabres will never reach me, while my brave steed stands yonder ready to obey my call. But it is better for me to go. There may be something in it. I cannot explain curiosity that attempts so much as this girl. I shall go at once then.”
And so Carlos had resolved. But much remained to be said: fresh vows of love to be pronounced; an hour to be fixed for a future meeting—perhaps the last before taking the final step—their flight across the great plains.
More than once had Carlos placed his foot upon the bridge, and more than once had he returned to have another sweet word—another parting kiss.
The final “adios” had at length been exchanged; the lovers had parted from each other; Catalina had turned towards the house; and Carlos was advancing to the bridge with the intention of crossing, when a growl from Cibolo caused him to halt and listen.
Again the dog growled, this time more fiercely, following with a series of earnest barks, that told his master some danger was nigh.
The first thought of the latter was to rush across the bridge, and make towards his steed. Had he done so, he would have had time enough to escape; but the desire to warn her, so that she might hasten to the house, impelled him to turn back through the grove. She had already reached the open parterre, and was crossing it, when the barking of the dog caused her to stop, and the moment after Carlos came up. But he had not addressed a word to her before the trampling of horses sounded outside the adobe walls of the garden—horsemen galloped down on both sides, while the confused striking of hoofs showed that some were halting outside, while others deployed around the enclosure. The rattling of the timbers of the large bridge was heard almost at the same instant; then the dog breaking into a fierce attack; and then, through the stems of the trees, the dark forms of horsemen became visible upon the opposite bank of the stream. The garden was surrounded!