Vagabond life in Mexico/Florencio Planillas, the Mexican Miner
CHAPTER IV.
Florencio Planillas, the Mexican Miner.
Left alone in the midst of the desert plain of Cazadero, I remained, I must confess, a considerable time in a state of great uncertainty. Being far distant from any habitation, I was debating within my own mind whether I should not turn bridle and regain the hacienda of Arroyo Zarco; but the sun shone so cheerily upon the plain, and the morning air was so refreshing, that my discouragement and hesitation disappeared like the mist upon the hills, which had now put on their usual bluish appearance. I continued my route. A gallop of barely two leagues would take me to the venta of the Soledad, where I had ordered Cecilio to await my coming. The landlord, on seeing me come in with a guitar slung across my shoulder, took me for a music-mad tourist that had come in the very nick of time to amuse him, and spoke of his love for music with the air of a man who was desirous to hear my performance. I refused, however, point blank, and hastened to take possession of the most retired room in the venta. Cecilio did not make his appearance till nightfall. He had nothing new to tell me. At midday, when he escaped from the hacienda, there was not the slightest stir. This information calmed me about the fugitives, and freed me from anxiety on their account. I resolved to pass the night in the inn. My poor valet, who had traveled on foot a distance of thirty miles, was hardly able to stand upright; and, for my own part, I needed to husband my strength, that I might resume on the following day that pursuit which seemed to be getting interminable.
Next morning, at an early hour, we were in the saddle and on the road to Celaya, where we expected to meet Don Tomas. It was a two days' journey, and these two days were marked with as many odd occurrences as had signalized the first part of this singular excursion. In all the inns at which we stopped Don Tomas had preceded us only by a few hours. At last I arrived at Celaya, and alighted at the Meson de Guadalupe at the very moment that Cecilio was mentally registering the seventy leagues we had traveled since we left Mexico, with this consoling reflection, however, that, according to the intelligence we had received, we were now approaching the end of our journey. Unhappily, I was once more balked. At Celaya, as at Arroyo Zarco, I missed Don Tomas by half an hour. Don Tomas, on leaving Celaya, had taken the road to Irapuato. We set out for that place. In the solitary inn of this small market-town no one had seen him. They knew him, however, for the host told me that Don Tomas owned and inhabited a solitary house at the foot of the Cerro del Gigante (Giant peak).
"Where is the Cerro del Gigante?" I asked, not without an apprehension that it might be a hundred leagues away.
"It is the highest peak of the range of mountains," replied my host, "which overhangs Guanajuato. If you got out from here at dawn of day, you will be there in the evening."
Irapuato is ninety-two leagues from Mexico. To reach Guanajuato I had still twenty leagues to travel. It occurred to me that Guanajuato was the town to which the Biscayan nobleman had conveyed Donna Luz. Besides the certainty of there meeting Don Tomas, I had the hope of learning the fate of a man in whom I already felt an interest as intense as if he had been an old friend. This double consideration determined me.
"Well," said I to Cecilio, "we must go and wait upon Don Tomas in his own house, which he seems in a great hurry to reach."
The road to Guanajuato winds through a ravine of interminable length called Cañada de Marfil, and it was far on in the afternoon before we reached that city, whose steep streets we traversed rapidly in the direction of the Cerro del Gigante. The road that we followed on leaving the town was cut with ravines and full of ruts. I was not long in regretting that I had entangled myself in such a defile as this, especially as night was coming on, and we were on an unknown road. As we advanced the scenery became wilder and more desolate; the noise made by the runnels of water which bounded over the rocks on either side, and the cawing of troops of crows which hovered overhead, were the only sounds which broke the stillness around.
"Ah! Señor," said Cecilio, approaching me when I had halted for a moment to recall to my recollection the instructions I had received, "this gully seems a real cutthroat place, and I hope nothing worse will be fall us than wandering all night long in this labyrinth of mountains, where the cold cuts into one's marrow."
I was not insensible to the cold which began to prevail in this deep valley, and I threw over my shoulders the manga that the Biscayan had given me in exchange for my cloak. I began to share in my servant's fears; but I judged it better to keep my anxiety to myself, and continued to advance, certain besides of being in the right road, although it was becoming rapidly darker and darker. Abrupt precipitous rocks, with whitened crests, rose before and on each side of us. Already the mountains were throwing their long shadows across the valleys; the evening mist was mounting in light flakes from the deep bottoms in which the brooks purled to the mountain tops that the sun was touching with his departing beams; and the Giant Peak, which seemed to me so near, rose always at the same distance, encircled with a purple halo, overtopping the neighboring heights with an appearance of gloomy majesty, as if placed there as the guardian of the mysterious treasures inclosed in the bowels of the Sierra.
"You know the proverb, master," continued Cecilio: "those who go to seek wool often come back shorn. Something tells me that we have got our selves into a terrible mess. Who can this Don Tomas be whom every body on the road knows, but whom we can never catch? Some bandit chief, I fear, who has his own reasons for not showing himself; and I think," he continued, in a low tone, "that these gorges are not so solitary as they seem. Mother of Jesus! did you not see the gleam of a musket-barrel among those branches up there?"
I carried my eyes involuntarily in the direction pointed out by Cecilio; it was nothing but the wind agitating the thick branches which crowned the crest of a precipice, and I could not see far on account of the fog. I affected to laugh at my servant's fears, when I thought I heard a sound resembling the click of a gun-lock. Our horses could advance but slowly, owing to the rocks with which the bottom of the ravine was covered. I quickened my pace, however. All at once a flash burst forth over our heads, the whiz of a ball shot past our ears, and the report of a gun echoed through the ravine, accompanied by a dull sound, as if the ball had been flattened against the rocks.
"Ah! the scoundrel," cried a voice, which seemed to come from the top of the precipice, "I have missed him."
My first impulse was to close my eyes, in the expectation of hearing another report. An instant passed in terrible anxiety, during which the echoes reverberated among the rocks. I then raised my head to seek for the place from which the shot had been fired, but the fog lay so thick on the heights that I could distinguish nothing. A strip torn off the pennon of my lance, which was within two feet of my body, clearly proved that I had been aimed at.
"'Tis lucky I escaped that shot," said I to Cecilio; "but come, let us climb the rocks on both sides, and lay hold on the scoundrel who is seemingly so sorry that he has missed."
"But," cried Cecilio, who was not at all pleased with the task I had assigned him, "there is no indication whatever that they aimed at you; besides, I won't leave you. It is the duty of a good servant to be always at his master's side."
I gained the top of the rocks before him. As far as my range of vision extended, I saw nothing but the distant hills deeply bathed in violet, a few fields of maize whose heavy heads swung slowly backward and forward, and some deep gorges in the Sierra, denoted by deeper tints of color. The country round had a sad, melancholy look in the gray of the evening that was creeping over all. It would have been imprudent to have turned, so I continued my march. In a short time I perceived in the distance a building of considerable size; no smoke rose above the roof. Indeed, it seemed quite deserted. It had probably been at one time a work-shop. I was confirmed in this opinion by the dilapidated state of the walls, and the large holes in the tiling. Just when Cecilio was alighting to assure himself that the place contained no inhabitant, a horseman issued from a by-road, and came galloping up with a carbine in his hand. He stopped suddenly on seeing me, and continued to look at me for some seconds with an air of fear and visible distrust. All at once he burst into a loud roar of laughter.
"You are not, then, Remigio Vasquez?" he inquired.
"I don't know him," I replied.
"Ah! Señor Cavalier, pardon me; I fancied it was Remigio Vasquez I was firing at."
Again the fellow laughed loudly, but added, in a tone of regret,
"Caramba! to say that I missed at twenty paces, when I had covered you too; but a sudden movement you made saved your life. Ah! but I am in deed sorry."
"Of having missed, no doubt. No more of that, if you please. The hour and the place seem quite suitable for my taking my revenge by blowing your brains out."
"For what?" cried he, slightly alarmed. "I thought you were my enemy; I was deceived. I fired at, and missed you. The one quite compensates for the other; and, for my part, I would not harm you the least in the world."
The unknown appeared so convinced by the force of his own argument that I could not help laughing. I then asked if I were far from the Cerro del Gigante.
"A good carbine could carry a ball there quite easily; but, from the windings of the ravine, it is a two hours' march from here; and, as the night is coming on, and the road rather difficult to find in the dark, I offer your lordship a night's lodging under my roof, to show you that I bear no malice."
The dilapidated appearance of the house promised only a very sorry shelter, but the offer seemed frankly enough made, and I was, besides, one of that class of unencumbered travelers with whom robbers only exchange salutations on the road. I made no difficulty, therefore, in accepting the offer, and dismounted. The unknown led me through a vast hall, whose roof was much broken in many parts, and, while he was assisting Cecilio to unsaddle the horses, I could see by the tools lying about the place that I was in one of those metallurgic work-shops (haciendas de beneficio) where the silver extracted from the mines receives its last treatment. My host was not long in returning; he lighted a miner's torch, and then told me to consider myself at home. Misery seemed to have taken up its abode in this ruined building, and I could not help remarking to myself that there seemed little likelihood of getting here even the slightest refreshment. I seated myself opposite to my host, and tried to listen patiently to the explanations he was giving me about the uses of various instruments which I had never seen before; but as time passed, and there seemed to be no likelihood of any thing being placed on the table, I said frankly,
"I am very hungry."
"So am I," he returned, gravely, without stirring.
I feared I had not been explicit enough.
"At what time do you ordinarily sup here? For my part, I can sup at any hour of the evening when I am as hungry as I am at present."
"Any hour is convenient enough for me; but to day I have had no supper."
This reply astonished me. Luckily, Cecilio had supplied himself with some yards of dried meat.[1] I was able then, our respective positions being reversed, to offer a frugal repast to the singular amphitryon with whom chance had brought me acquainted, and he needed no pressing to make him accept it.
"It appears to me," I said, after we had finished, "that there is a certain person called Remigio Vasquez in the world who is far from being a friend of yours; what ill has he done you?"
"None, till a little ago; and I fired at him (that is, at you) to-day purely from precaution, and to prevent him from ruining me."
Florencio Planillas, that was my host's name, then entered into long details about his own affairs. He was one of those obstinate miners who have all their lives struggled to grasp after merely visionary illusions, and who, like the unlucky gambler, fancy themselves constantly on the point of becoming possessors of millions without ever being able to learn those rude lessons of experience which their unhappy obstinacy prevents them from acquiring. His history was that of many others. Once proprietor of a rich silver mine, then of a flourishing hacienda de beneficio, he had seen the thread of silver fail in the borrasca[2] and the want of capital had forced him to suspend his metallurgic operations. According to Mexican custom, a mine once abandoned becomes the property of the person who proclaims the failure of the former proprietor. This proclamation was a perpetual source of annoyance to Florencio Planillas both day and night. His restless, perturbed spirit saw a rival in every one, ready to deprive him of his property, and he had been told that an individual named Remigio Vasquez had arrived the night before at Guanajuato, with the avowed intention of profiting by the suspension of his works, and claiming them as his own. It would prove a rough blow to Florencio to be deprived of a property which had enriched him before, and very probably might do so again. The Mexicans are very generally in the habit of deciding such cases by the knife. He had therefore vowed the death of Remigio Vasquez. "I never saw him," he added, on finishing his recital; "but his appearance has been so exactly described to me that he cannot escape. I spent this whole day at Guanajuato trying to discover him, but in vain, and on my return, deceived by the darkness, by a certain vague resemblance you bore to him, and, above all, by the cloak you wore, I thought you were the person that had come to dispossess me of my rights, and it was only on closer inspection that I discovered my error. I do not say, however, that I am sorry I missed you; but after this I'll use the knife. El cuchillo no suena ni truena (the knife does its work silently), as my friend Tomas Verduzco says." "Verdugo, you mean," said I, interrupting him.
"Do you know him?" cried Florencio, with a laugh. "What a capital joke! But you don't transact business with him, I think."
"What joke are you referring to?"
"Hombre! don't you know that his true name is Verduzco, and that he is called Verdugo[3] (executioner) because he is obliged sometimes to see justice done to himself in what he calls his affairs of conscience?"
This peculiarity in the character of the man on whose heels I had been treading so closely was not the most agreeable thing in the world, I must confess; but I wished to get some more information about him, and accordingly inquired how long it had taken Don Tom as to acquire this formidable surname.
"On my word," replied Florencio, "that's one of those matters of which one does not like to keep a too exact account probably he does not even know him self but perhaps you will form a bad opinion of Don Tomas from what I have told you. The Señor Verduzco is no egoist; his neighbor may have the use of his knife at a time; and, provided you give him solid reasons (with a strong emphasis on solid), he is always ready to render one a service."
"The devil he is!" I cried. "Don Tomas must be a most inestimable character, and I am quite impatient to make his acquaintance."
In spite of this gasconade, the intense desire that I had shown to see Don Tomas was dispelled as if by magic; but, having gone too far to recede, I determined to make my way, as I had intended, to the Cerro del Gigante. The night passed without any incident occurring except that I was forced to lend my host a part of my manga to stop up a hole in the roof that admitted the cold, and I took leave of him in the morning with many thanks for his munificent hospitality, which had been shown by his appropriating to him self three parts of my supper and the half of my cloak. Moreover, not many hours before he had tried to shoot me.
I mounted, and proceeded in the direction of the Cerro del Gigante. Armed with my lance, whose torn pennon bore witness to the danger I had run, escorted by Cecilio, and having the guitar of the Biscayan nobleman thumping on my back, I bore no uncertain resemblance to the wandering knight of La Mancha in search of adventures, attended by his trusty squire. This mission of mine was one of the most delicate kind, for now I had no doubt whatever but that we were on the traces of a Mexican bravo, and I had been following him for the last six days. I was quite convinced, however, that I had done nothing to get my self involved with Don Tomas.
The bravi of Mexico, like their compatriots in other countries where this formidable profession is exercised, begin at first by putting those to death to whom they become indebted at the gaming-table. It was, then, a point of the very greatest importance to establish my identity fully in the eyes of a fellow of this stamp, as I might probably, if this were not done, get a stab intended for some other person. This consideration deciding me above all, I repaired to the Cerro del Gigante, and in a short time arrived at a very pretty house at the foot of the mountain. A purling brook, shaded with sycamores, ran close by the door. My host of the preceding night had described the place to me too minutely to allow of my missing it. I addressed myself to a groom, who was rubbing down a beautiful horse at the gate, by inquiring if the Cavalier Verduzco could be seen at present.
"No, Señor," replied the man. "He had scarcely arrived here last night ere he was sent on business of the utmost importance to Guanajuato, which he can scarcely finish in less than three days; and when he comes home, he may require to depart again immediately."
"Where is he going next?" I asked.
"I don't know," said the man, dryly. I made no more inquiries, wheeled my horse round, and rode off.