Читать книгу Gunfights & Revolutions (Texas War Trilogy) - Gustave Aimard - Страница 14

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Using now our privilege as romancer, we will transfer the scene of our narrative to Texas, and resume our story about sixteen years after the events recorded in the prologue.

Dawn was beginning to tinge the clouds with its opaline rays, the stars went out one after the other in the gloomy depths of the sky, and on the extreme blue line of the horizon a bright red reflection, precursor of sunrise, showed that day would ere long appear. Thousands of invisible birds, hidden beneath the foliage, suddenly woke up, and melodiously began their morning concert, while the yells of the wild beasts quitting the watering places, and returning slowly to their unexplored lairs, became gradually more dull and indistinct.

At this moment the breeze rose, burst into the dense cloud of steam which at sunrise exhales from the earth in these intertropical regions, whirled it round for an instant, then rent it asunder, and scattered it in space; thus displaying, without any apparent transition, the most delicious landscape the dreaming mind of poet or painter could imagine.

It is, before all, in America that Providence appears to have taken a pleasure in lavishing the most striking landscape effects, and in infinitely varying the contrasts and harmonies of that puissant nature which can only be found there.

Through the centre of an immense plain, circled on all sides by the tall foliage of a virgin forest, there ran in capricious windings a sandy road, whose golden colour contrasted harmoniously with the deep green of the grass and the silvery whiteness of a narrow stream which the first beams of the sun caused to sparkle like a casket of jewels. Not far from the stream, and at about the middle of the plain, rose a white house with a verandah running round it, and a roof of red tiles. This house, prettily covered with creepers that almost hid its walls, was a Venta, or hostelry, built on the top of a small mount. It was reached by an imperceptible ascent, and, owing to its position, commanded the immense and grand landscape.

Before the door of the venta several dragoons, picturesquely grouped, and about twenty in number, were saddling their horses while the arrieros were actively engaged in loading seven or eight mules.

Along the road and some paces from the venta, several horsemen, resembling black dots, could be seen just entering the forest to which we alluded, a forest which rose gradually, and was commanded by a girdle of lofty mountains, whose rugged and bare crests were almost confounded with the azure of the sky.

The door of the venta opened, and a young officer came out singing, accompanied by a stout and jolly-looking monk; after them, a charming maiden of eighteen or nineteen, fair-haired and fragile, with blue eyes and golden hair, appeared on the threshold.

"Come, come," the Captain said, for the young officer wore the marks of that grade, "we have lost too much time already, so to horse."

"Hum!" the monk growled, "we have had hardly time to breakfast; why the deuce are you in such a hurry, Captain?"

"Holy man," the officer went on with a laugh, "if you prefer remaining, you are at liberty to do so."

"No, no, I will go with you," the monk exclaimed, with a look of terror; "caspita! I want to take advantage of your escort."

"Then make haste, for I shall give orders to start within five minutes."

The officer, after looking round the plain, gave his asistente orders to bring up his horse, and mounted with that grace peculiar to Mexican riders. The monk stifled a sigh of regret, probably thinking of the savoury hospitality he was leaving, to run the risk of a long journey, and, aided by the arrieros, he contrived to lift himself on to a mule, whose loins gave way beneath the enormous load.

"Ouf!" he muttered, "Here I am."

"To horse!" the officer commanded.

The dragoons obeyed at once, and for a few seconds the clash of steel could be heard.

The maiden, to whom we have alluded, had hitherto stood silent and motionless in the doorway, apparently suffering from some secret agitation, and looking now and then anxiously at two or three Campesinos, who, leaning negligently against the wall of the venta, listlessly followed the movements of the party; but at the moment when the Captain was about to give the order to start, she resolutely went up to him and offered him a mechero.

"Your cigarette is not lighted, sir," she said, in a soft and melodious voice.

"On my honour, 'tis true," he replied, and bending gallantly down to her, he returned her the mechero, saying, "thanks, my pretty child."

The girl profited by this movement, which brought his face close to hers, to whisper hurriedly—

"Take care!"

"What?" he said, as he looked fixedly at her. Without replying, she laid her finger on her rosy lips, and turning quickly away, ran back into the venta.

The Captain drew himself up, frowned savagely, and bent a threatening glance on the two or three fellows leaning against the wall, but he soon shook his head.

"Bah!" he muttered, disdainfully, "they would not dare."

He then drew his sabre, whose blade glistened dazzlingly in the sunbeams, and placed himself at the head of the troop.

"Forward!" he shouted.

They started at once.

The mules followed the bell of the Néna, and the dragoons collected round the recua enclosed it in their midst.

For a few minutes the Campesinos, who had been watching the departure of the troop, looked after it along the winding road, then re-entered the venta one by one.

The girl was seated alone on an equipal, apparently busily engaged in sewing; still, through the almost imperceptible tremor that agitated her body, the flush on her brow, and the timid look she shot through her long eyelashes on the entrance of the Campesinos, it was easy to read that the calmness she affected was far from her heart, and that, on the contrary, a secret fear tormented her.

These Campesinos were three in number; they were men in the full vigour of life, with harshly marked features, firm glances, and brusque and brutal manners. They wore the Mexican border costume, and were well armed.

They sat down on a bench placed before a clumsily planed table, and one of them striking it sharply with his fist, turned to the girl and said roughly—

"Drink here."

She started, and raised her head quickly.

"What do you wish for, Caballeros?" she said.

"Mezcal."

She rose and hastened to serve them; the man who had spoken caught her by the dress at the moment she passed.

"An instant, Carmela," he said.

"Let go my dress, Ruperto," she replied, with a slight pout of ill-humour, "you will tear it for me."

"Nonsense!" he replied, with a coarse laugh, "you must fancy me very awkward."

"No, but your manner does not please me."

"Oh! oh! you are not always so wild, my charming bird."

"What do you mean?" she continued, with a blush.

"No matter, I understand it; but that is not the question just at present."

"What is it, then?" she asked with feigned surprise; "Have I not brought you the mezcal you ordered?"

"Yes, yes; but I have something to say to you."

"Well, say it quickly, and let me go."

"You are in a great hurry to escape from me; are you afraid lest your lover may surprise you in conversation with me?"

Ruperto's comrades began laughing, and the maiden stood quite abashed.

"I have no lover, Ruperto, and you know it very well," she answered with tears in her eyes; "it is cruel of you to insult a defenceless girl."

"Nonsense! I am not insulting you, Carmela; what harm is there in a pretty girl like you having a lover, if not two?"

"Let me go," she cried, as she made an angry movement to free herself.

"Not before you have answered my question."

"Ask it then, and let us have an end of this."

"Well, my wild little maid, be good enough to repeat to me what you whispered just now to that springald of a captain."

"I?" she replied in embarrassment; "what do you suppose I said to him?"

"That is the very point. Niña, I do not suppose what you said to him, I merely wish you to tell me what it was."

"Leave me alone, Ruperto, you only take a delight in tormenting me."

The Mexican looked at her searchingly.

"Do not turn the conversation, my beauty," he said drily, "for the question I ask you is serious."

"That is possible; but I have no answer to give you."

"Because you know you have done wrong."

"I do not understand you."

"Of course not! Well, I will explain myself; at the moment the officer was about to start, you said to him, 'Take care,' Would you venture to deny it?"

The girl turned pale.

"Since you heard me," she said, attempting to jest, "why do you ask me?"

The Campesinos had frowned on hearing Ruperto's accusation; the position was growing serious.

"Oh, oh!" one of them said, as he looked up; "Did she really say that?"

"Apparently, since I heard it," Ruperto retorted brutally.

The girl took a timid glance around, as if imploring an absent protector.

"He is not there," Ruperto remarked cruelly, "so it is of no use looking for him."

"Who?" she asked, hesitating between the shame of the supposition and the terror of her dangerous position.

"He," he answered with a grin. "Listen, Carmela; several times already you have learned more of our business than we liked; I repeat to you the remark you made a minute ago to the Captain, and try to profit by it; take care."

"Yes," the second speaker said brutally; "for we might forget that you are only a child, and make you pay dearly for your treachery."

"Nonsense," the third said, who had hitherto contented himself with drinking, and taking no part in the conversation; "the law must be equal for all; if Carmela has betrayed us, she must be punished."

"Well said, Bernardo," Ruperto exclaimed, as he smote the table; "there are just enough of us to pronounce the sentence."

"Good Heavens!" she screamed, as she freed herself by a sudden effort from the grasp of the arm which had hitherto held her; "Let me go, let me go!"

"Stay!" Ruperto shouted as he rose; "If you do not, some misfortune will happen."

The three men rushed on the maiden, and the latter, half wild with terror, sought in vain the door of the venta by which to escape.

But, at the moment when the three men laid their rough and horny hands on her white and delicate shoulders, the door, whose hasp she had been unable to lift in her terror, was thrown wide open, and a man appeared on the threshold.

"What is the matter here?" he asked in a harsh voice, as he crossed his hands on his chest; and he stood motionless, looking round at the company.

There was such menace in the voice of the new-comer, such a flash shot from his eyes, that the three terrified men fell back mechanically against the opposing wall, muttering—"The Jaguar! The Jaguar!"

"Save me! Save me!" the maiden shrieked, as she rushed wildly toward him.

"Yes," he said in a deep voice; "yes, I will save you, Carmela; woe to the man who causes a hair of your head to fall."

And softly raising her in his powerful arms, he laid her gently on a butacca, where she reclined in a half-fainting condition.

The man who appeared so suddenly was still very young; his beardless face would have seemed that of a child, if his regular features, with their almost feminine beauty, had not been relieved by two large black eyes, which possessed a brilliancy and magnetic power that few men felt themselves capable of enduring.

He was tall, but graceful and elegant, and his chest was wide; his long hair, black as the raven's wing, fell in clusters beneath his vicuna hat, which was ornamented with a deep gold toquilla.

He wore the brilliant and luxurious Mexican costume; his calzoneras of violet velvet, open above the knee, and decorated with a profusion of carved gold buttons, displayed his shapely leg, elegantly imprisoned in plaid silk stockings; his manga, thrown over, his shoulder, was bordered with a wide gold galoon, a girdle of white China crape confined his hips, and bore a pair of pistols and a sheathless machete, with a broad and glittering blade, passed through a ring of bronzed steel: an American rifle, studded with silver ornaments, was slung over his shoulder.

There was in the person of this man, still so young, an attraction so powerful, a dominating fire so strange, that it was impossible to see him without loving or hating him—so profound was the impression he unconsciously produced on all those, without exception, with whom chance brought him into relation.

No one knew who he was, or whence he came; his very name was unknown; and people had consequently been compelled to give him a sobriquet, with which, however, he did not appear at all offended.

As for his character, the following scenes will make it sufficiently well known for us to dispense for the present with entering into any lengthened details.