Читать книгу The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse - Reid Mayne - Страница 9

Wheatley now rode after the troop, with which Holingworth had already entered the corral. A band of drivers was speedily pressed into service; and with these the two lieutenants proceeded to the great plain at the foot of the hill, where most of Don Ramon’s cattle were at pasture. By this arrangement I was left alone, if I except the company of half-a-dozen slippered wenches – the deities of the cocina– who, clustered in the corner of the patio, eyed me with mingled looks of curiosity and fear.

The verandah curtains remained hermetically closed, and though I glanced at every aperture that offered a chance to an observing eye, no one appeared to be stirring behind them.

“Too high-bred – perhaps indifferent?” thought I. The latter supposition was by no means gratifying to my vanity. “After all, now that the others are gone out of the way, Don Ramon might ask me to step inside. Ah! no – these mestizo women would tell tales: I perceive it would never do. I may as well give it up. I shall ride out, and join the troop.”

As I turned my horse to put this design into execution, the fountain came under my eyes. Its water reminded me that I was thirsty, for it was a July day, and a hot one. A gourd cup lay on the edge of the tank. Without dismounting, I was able to lay hold of the vessel, and filling it with the cool sparkling liquid, I drained it off. It was very good water, but not Canario or Xeres.

Sweeping the curtain once more, I turned with a disappointed glance, and jagging my horse, rode doggedly out through the back gateway.

Once in the rear of the buildings, I had a full view of the great meadow already known to me; and pulling up, I sat in the saddle, and watched the animated scene that was there being enacted. Bulls, half wild, rushing to and fro in mad fury, vaqueros mounted on their light mustangs, with streaming sash and winding lazo; rangers upon their heavier steeds, offering but a clumsy aid to the more adroit and practised herdsmen; others driving off large groups that had been already collected and brought into subjection: and all this amidst the fierce bellowing of the bulls, the shouts and laughter of the delighted troopers, the shriller cries of the vaqueros and peons: the whole forming a picture that, under other circumstances, I should have contemplated with interest. Just then my spirits were not attuned to its enjoyment, and although I remained for some minutes with my eyes fixed upon the plain, my thoughts were wandering elsewhere.

I confess to a strong faith in woman’s curiosity. That such a scene could be passing under the windows of the most aristocratic mansion, without its most aristocratic inmate deigning to take a peep at it, I could not believe. Besides, Isolina was the very reverse.

“Ha! Despite that jealous curtain, those beautiful eyes are glancing through some aperture – window or loophole, I doubt not;” and with this reflection I once more turned my face to the buildings.

Just then it occurred to me that I had not sufficiently reconnoitred the front of the dwelling. As we approached it, we had observed that the shutters of the windows were closed; but these opened inward, and since that time one or other of them might have been set a little ajar. From my knowledge of Mexican interiors, I knew that the front windows are those of the principal apartments – of the sola and grand cuarto, or drawing-room – precisely those where the inmates of that hour should be found.

“Fool!” thought I, “to have remained so long in the patio. Had I gone round to the front of the house, I might have – ’Tis not too late – there’s a chance yet.”

Under the impulse of this new hope, I rode back through the corral, and re-entered the patio. The brown-skinned mestizas were still there, chattering and flurried as ever, and the curtain had not been stirred. A glance at it was all I gave; and without stopping I walked my horse across the paved court, and entered under the arched saguan. The massive gate stood open, as we had left it; and on looking into the little box of the portero, I perceived that it was empty. The man had hid himself, in dread of a second interview with the Texan lieutenant!

In another moment I had emerged from the gateway, and was about turning my horse to inspect the windows, when I heard the word “Capitan,” pronounced in a voice, that sounded soft as a silver bell, and thrilled to my heart like a strain of music.

I looked towards the windows. It came not thence; they were close shut as ever. Whence —

Before I had time to ask myself the question, the “Capitan” was repeated in a somewhat louder key, and I now perceived that the voice proceeded from above – from the azotea.

I wrenched my horse round, at the same time turning my eyes upward. I could see no one; but just at that moment an arm, that might have been attached to the bust of Venus, was protruded through a notch in the parapet. In the small hand, wickedly sparkling with jewels, was something white, which I could not distinguish until I saw it projected on the grass – at the same moment that the phrase “Un papelcito” reached my ears.

Without hesitation I dismounted – made myself master of the papelcito; and then leaping once more into the saddle, looked upward. I had purposely drawn my horse some distance from the walls, so that I might command a better view. I was not disappointed – Isolina!

The face, that lovely face, was just distinguishable through the slender embrasure, the large brown eyes gazing upon me with that half-earnest, half-mocking glance I had already noticed, and which produced within me both pleasure and pain!

I was about to speak to her, when I saw the expression suddenly change: a hurried glance was thrown backwards, as if the approach of some one disturbed her; a finger rested momentarily on her lips, and then her face disappeared behind the screening wall of the parapet.

I understood the universal sign, and remained silent.

For some moments I was undecided whether to go or stay. She had evidently withdrawn from the front of the building, though she was still upon the azotea. Some one had joined her; and I could hear voices in conversation; her own contrasting with the harsher tones of a man. Perhaps her father – perhaps – that other relative– less agreeable supposition!

I was about to ride off, when it occurred to me that I had better first master the contents of the “papelcito.” Perhaps it might throw some light on the situation, and enable me to adopt the more pleasant alternative of remaining a while longer upon the premises.

I had thrust the billet into the breast of my frock; and now looked around for some place where I might draw it forth and peruse it unobserved. The great arched gateway, shadowy and tenantless, offered the desired accommodation; and heading my horse to it, I once more rode inside the saguan.

Facing around so as to hide my front from the cocineras, I drew forth the strip of folded paper, and spread it open before me. Though written in pencil, and evidently in a hurried impromptu, I had no difficulty in deciphering it. My heart throbbed exultingly as I read: —

“Capitan! I know you will pardon our dry hospitality? A cup of cold water – ha! ha! ha! Remember what I told you yesterday: we fear our friends more than our foes, and we have a guest in the house my father dreads more than you and your terrible filibusteros. I am not angry with you for my pet, but you have carried off my lazo as well. Ah, capitan! would you rob me of everything? – Adios!

“Isolina.”

Thrusting the paper back into my bosom, I sat for some time pondering upon its contents. Part was clear enough – the remaining part full of mystery.

“We fear our friends more than our foes.” I was behind the scenes sufficiently to comprehend what was intended by that cunningly worded phrase. It simply meant that Don Ramon de Vargas was Ayankieado– in other words, a friend to the American cause, or, as some loud demagogues would have pronounced him, a “traitor to his country.” It did not follow, however, that he was anything of the kind. He might have wished success to the American arms, and still remained a true friend to his country – not one of those blind bigots whose standard displays the brigand motto, “Our country right or wrong;” but an enlightened patriot, who desired more to see Mexico enjoy peace and happiness under foreign domination, than that it should continue in anarchy under the iron rule of native despots. What is there in the empty title of independence, without peace, without liberty? After all, patriotism in its ordinary sense is but a doubtful virtue – perhaps nearer to a crime! It will one day appear so; one day in the far future it will be supplanted by a virtue of higher order – the patriotism that knows no boundaries of nations, but whose country is the whole earth. That, however, would not be “patriotism!”

Was Don Ramon de Vargas a patriot in this sense – a man of progress, who cared not that the name of “Mexico” should be blotted from the map, so long as peace and prosperity should be given to his country under another name? Was Don Ramon one of these? It might be. There were many such in Mexico at that time, and these principally of the class to which Señor de Vargas belonged – the ricos, or proprietors. It is easy enough to explain why the Ayankieados were of the class of ricos.

Perhaps the affection of Don Ramon for the American cause had less lofty motives; perhaps the five thousand beeves may have had something to do with it? Whether or no, I could not tell; nor did I stay to consider. I only reflected upon the matter at all as offering an explanation to the ambiguous phrase now twice used by his fair daughter – “We fear our friends more than our foes.” On either supposition, the meaning was clear.

What followed was far from being equally perspicuous. A guest in the house dreaded by her father? Here was mystery indeed. Who could that guest be? – who but Ijurra?

But Ijurra was her cousin – she had said so. If a cousin, why should he be dreaded? Was there still another guest in the house? That might be: I had not been inside to see. The mansion was large enough to accommodate another – half a score of others. For all that, my thoughts constantly turned upon Ijurra, why I know not, but I could not resist the belief that he was the person pointed at – the guest that was “dreaded!”

The behaviour which I had noticed on the day before – the first and only time I had ever seen the man – his angry speech and looks addressed to Isolina – her apparent fear of him: these it was, no doubt, that guided my instincts; and I at length came to the conviction that he was the fiend dreaded by Don Ramon. And she too feared him! “God grant she do not also love him!”

Such was my mental ejaculation, as I passed on to consider the closing sentences of the hastily written note. In these I also encountered ambiguity of expression; whether I construed it aright, time would tell. Perhaps my wish was too much parent to my thoughts: but it was with an exulting heart I read the closing sentence and rode forth from the gateway.