Chapter 66 - The White Chief by Mayne Reid
In our land of cold impulses—of love calculating and interested—we cannot understand, and scarcely credit, the deeds of reckless daring that in other climes have their origin in that strong passion.
Among Spanish women love often attains a strength and sublimity utterly unfelt and unknown to nations who mix it up with their merchandise. With those highly-developed dames it often becomes a true passion—unselfish, headlong, intense—usurping the place of every other, and filling the measure of the soul. Filial affection—domestic ties—moral and social duty—must yield. Love triumphs over all.
Of such a nature—of such intensity—was the love that burned in the heart of Catalina de Cruces.
Filial affection had been weighed against it; rank, fortune, and many other considerations, had been thrown into the scale. Love out-balanced them all; and, obedient to its impulse, she had resolved to fling all the rest behind her.
It was nearing the hour of midnight, and the mansion of Don Ambrosio was dark and silent. Its master was not at home. A grand banquet had been provided at the Presidio by Vizcarra and Roblado, to which all the grandees of the settlement had been invited. Don Ambrosio was among the number. At this hour he was at the Presidio, feasting and making merry.
It was not a ladies’ festival, therefore Catalina was not there. It was, indeed, rather an extemporised affair—a sort of jubilee to wind up the performances of the day. The officers and priests were in high spirits, and had put their heads together in getting up the improvised banquet.
The town had become silent, and the mansion of Don Ambrosio showed not a sign of life. The portero still lingered by the great gate, waiting his master’s return; but he sat inside upon the banqueta of the zaguan, and seemed to be asleep.
He was watched by those who wished him to sleep on.
The large door of the caballeriza was open. Within the framework of the posts and lintels the form of a man could be distinguished. It was the groom Andres.
There was no light in the stable. Had there been so, four horses might have been seen standing in their stalls, saddled and bridled. A still stranger circumstance might have been observed—around the hoofs of each horse were wrapped pieces of coarse woollen cloth, that were drawn up and fastened around the ankles! There was some design in this.
The door of the caballeriza was not visible from the zaguan; but at intervals the figure within the stable came forth, and, skulking along, peeped around the angle of the wall. The portero was evidently the object of his scrutiny. Having listened a while, the figure again returned to its place in the dark doorway, and stood as before.
Up to a certain time a tiny ray of light could be detected stealing through the curtains of a chamber-door—the chamber of the señorita. All at once the light silently disappeared; but a few moments after, the door opened noiselessly. A female figure glided softly forth, and turned along under the shadow of the wall, in the direction of the caballeriza. On reaching the open doorway she stopped, and called in a low voice—
“Andres!”
“Aqui, Señorita!” answered the groom, stepping a little more into the light.
“All saddled?”
“Si, Señorita.”
“You have muffled their hoofs?”
“Every one, Señorita.”
“Oh! what shall we do with him,” continued the lady in a tone of distress, and pointing toward the zaguan. “We shall not be able to pass out before papa returns, and then it may be too late. Santisima!”
“Señorita, why not serve the portero as I have done the girl? I’m strong enough for that.”
“Oh, Vicenza! how have you secured her?”
“In the garden-house,—tied, gagged, and locked up. I warrant she’ll not turn up till somebody finds her. No fear of her, Señorita. I’ll do the same for the portero, if you but say the word.”
“No—no—no! who would open the gate for papa? No—no—no! it would not do.” She reflected. “And yet, if he gets out before the horses are ready, they will soon miss—pursue—overtake him. He will get out, I am sure of it. How long would it occupy him? not long. He will easily undo his cord fastenings. I know that—he once said he could. Oh, holy Virgin! he may now be free, and waiting for me! I must haste—the portero—Ha!”
As she uttered this exclamation she turned suddenly to Andres. A new plan seemed to have suggested itself.
“Andres! good Andres! listen! We shall manage it yet!”
“Si, Señorita.”
“Thus, then. Lead the horses out the back way, through the garden—can you swim them across the stream?”
“Nothing easier, my lady.”
“Good! Through the garden take them then. Stay!”
At this she cast her eyes toward the entrance of the long alley leading to the garden, which was directly opposite to, and visible from, the zaguan. Unless the portero were asleep, he could not fail to see four horses passing out in that way—dark as was the night. Here, then, a new difficulty presented itself.
Suddenly starting, she seemed to have thought of a way to overcome it.
“Andres, it will do. You go to the zaguan. See whether he be asleep. Go up boldly. If asleep, well; if not enter into conversation with him. Get him to open the little door and let you out. Wile him upon the street, and by some means keep him there. I shall lead out the horses.”
This was plausible, and the groom prepared himself for a strategic encounter with the portero.
“When sufficient time has elapsed, steal after me to the garden. See that you manage well, Andres. I shall double your reward. You go with me—you have nothing to fear.”
“Señorita, I am ready to lay down my life for you.”
Gold is powerful. Gold had won the stout Andres to a fealty stronger than friendship. For gold he was ready to strangle the portero on the spot.
The latter was not asleep—only dozing, as a Spanish portero knows how. Andres put the stratagem in practice, he offered a cigar; and in a few minutes’ time his unsuspicious fellow-servant stepped with him through the gate, and both stood smoking outside.
Catalina judged their situation by the hum of their voices. She entered the dark stable; and gliding to the head of one of the horses, caught the bridle, and led the animal forth. A few moments sufficed to conduct it to the garden, where she knotted the rein to a tree.
She then returned for the second, and the third, and the fourth and last—all of which she secured as she had done the first.
Once more she went back to the patio. This time only to shut the stable-door, and lock that of her own chamber; and, having secured both, she cast a look towards the zaguan, and then glided back into the garden. Here she mounted her own horse, took the bridle of another in her hand, and sat waiting.
She had not long to wait. Andres had well calculated his time, for in a few minutes he appeared in the entrance; and, having closed the gate behind him, joined his mistress.
The ruse had succeeded admirably. The portero suspected nothing. Andres had bidden him “buenas noches,” at the same time expressing his intention of going to bed.
Don Ambrosio might now return when he pleased. He would retire to his sleeping-room as was his wont. He would not know before morning the loss he had sustained.
The mufflings were now removed from the feet of the horses, and, plunging as silently as possible into the water, the four were guided across the stream. Having ascended the opposite bank, they were first headed towards the cliffs, but before they had proceeded far in that direction they turned into a path of the chapparal leading downward. This path would conduct them to the rancho of Josefa.