Vagabond life in Mexico/Rencounter with Don Tomas Verduzco
CHAPTER IV.
Rencounter with Don Tomas Verduzco.
I fancied a favorable moment had at last arrived for taking leave of Fuentes, for whom I entertained no good feeling, though a regard for myself caused me to conceal it.
"What!" said he, "are you going to town? I am going there also; and you will find it more cheerful to have a companion by the way."
We set out. Daylight was fast ebbing away, and it was doubtful if we should reach Guanajuato before nightfall. Desiderio kept up a continual flow of talk about the sayings and doings of the miners, and what an excellent profession he belonged to; but I took no interest in his conversation, and inwardly imprecated the bore whom I could not shake off. All at once he stopped, and struck his forehead with the palm of his hand.
"Voto al demonio!" cried he. "I have forgotten the unhappy devil for these two hours, and he may have bled to death by this time."
"Whom do you refer to?"
"Planillas, to be sure."
Almost at the same moment Fuentes went off at a gallop. I had now got a capital opportunity of ridding myself of him; but my curiosity prevailed, and I hastened after him. When we had arrived at a place not far from where we had that morning met Planillas plunged in grief, sitting on the carcass of the mule, Desiderio paused, and made a gesture of surprise.
"I don't see any body," I said.
"No more do I, and that's what astonishes me. True, he must have been tired waiting. It is very shabby of him; and another time I won't believe him. However, it is more than probable that some charitable person has removed him, for he had excellent reasons for remaining there till the sounding of the last trump."
"What has happened to him?"
"Look!" said Fuentes, pointing to the earth dyed in blood, and to the mule which the vultures were then preying upon. The miner added that, in the morning after leaving me, he had returned to ask some questions of Planillas, whose crooked morality made him an object of suspicion. Not finding either him or the mule at the place he had left them, he had followed their traces, and having arrived at the spot where we now were, found poor Florencio lying on the ground almost insensible, and bleeding profusely. He had then learned the truth from the lips of the wounded man. The mule, which Florencio and his companion were dragging to a solitary place, had died, it is true, in the hacienda de platas; but Florencio had never seen the animal till that day, and the cause of his tender solicitude was, that its flanks contained a number of silver ingots which Planillas had stolen and hidden there, so that the clerk of the mines might not discover them. The stratagem had been successful; but when they came to divide the spoil, after having drawn it to a still more solitary spot, a quarrel arose, and the result was, that Planillas got nothing but a couple of stabs from the ready knife of his neighbor, which had placed his life in great danger.
"You can guess the rest," continued Fuentes. "I could not help being sorry for the fellow, and went away, promising to send him assistance. I can't tell how it is, but I completely forgot the poor devil."
Fuentes was right in not boasting of his second impulse. As for this reckless indifference to human life, I had seen too many similar instances in Mexico to be at all astonished at it. I rode sadly back to Guanajuato, still in the company of Fuentes, who did not fail to stop me at the little pent-house in which the hand of the sacrilegious robber was exposed. This memorial of a barbarous justice reminded me that I had observed some imperfections in the miner's story.
"If I understood you aright," I said, "of the three persons, actors and witness, who were present at the duel between Osorio and the young miner, two are dead, and the third escaped. How comes it, then, that you can speak so positively about actions of which no person could have informed you?"
"Very simply," replied Fuentes. "I had forgotten to tell you that it was I who killed Osorio; it was I who witnessed the deed on the Rio Atotonilco. Don't think, however, that I am an utterly heartless bravo like that Don Tomas, surnamed Verdugo.[1] I have given, it is true, more than one stroke in my time; but in Mexico one must see a little justice done to one's self. Were you not yourself on the very point of killing a man this morning? And don't you think that a similar case might perchance happen to me?"
I shuddered at this rude speech, which reminded me of the danger I ran by remaining any longer in Guanajuato. The man whose life I had threatened that day was, I had no doubt, the murderer of Don Jaime. It may be easily imagined that I felt some degree of satisfaction in finding myself safe at the door of my hotel.
"Ah! you live here?" said Fuentes, grasping my hand; "I am very glad I know; I shall call on you to-morrow, and we shall have a pleasant day together."
"Well, to-morrow," I said. We parted, and I entered the inn.
My valet Cecilio waited on me with as much impatience as curiosity in his countenance. He had been long obliged to make himself acquainted with all the particulars of my life, but seldom had he been necessitated to follow me into such a maze of disagreeable incidents. I interrupted his questions by ordering him to have our horses saddled at midnight, as I wished to avoid both Fuentes and the treacherous designs of Don Tomas.
"After this," said I, "we shall travel only at night; it is better for the health."
By traveling at night and sleeping during the day, I reasonably hoped to baffle all pursuit. However, grown bolder by success, I returned to my ordinary habits; and when I came to the venta of Arroyo Zarco, it was midday before I arrived, after having passed the night at San Juan del Rio, and journeying almost the whole day. In this last stage of my excursion many sorrowful remembrances crowded into my mind. The plain, the venta, alike reminded me of Don Jaime. It was while musing sadly on this young man, so prematurely cut off, that I found myself, almost without knowing it, at the very spot where he had lighted his fire. Of so many dreams of love and fortune, what was left behind? A corpse three hundred miles away, a few burned sticks, and some ashes which the winds of the plain were scattering about! The supper-hour approaching, I went to pass away an idle hour, if not at the common table, at least in a room where all the travelers, and they were numerous on that day, were generally accustomed to take their meals. The company consisted, as it had done before, of a curious mixture of all classes of Mexican society, but I had no end in view as I had then, and accordingly seated myself in a corner after looking around me with a careless eye. I thought for some time on the cruel isolation to which foreigners are subjected in those countries inhabited by people of Spanish extraction, when the hostess pronounced, almost at my ear, the name of a person that made me start."Señor Don Tomas," cried the hostess, "here is a foreigner who was inquiring after you a fortnight ago, and whom I was telling you about just now."
I jumped up. In the man whom the hostess had addressed, and which a secret feeling in my own mind convinced me was the person, I recognized the sinister companion of Planillas. A cold shudder ran through my whole frame. I looked at the by-standers, but I could see on their countenances only that expression of apathetic indifference which makes a comedy or a tragedy a matter of mere moonshine to them. Almost immediately, and before I was able to prevent it, I was strained between two strong muscular arms. I disengaged myself without any ceremony, but he affected not to perceive the repugnance with which he had inspired me.
"Ah!" cried he, with an impudence seldom to be met with, "how happy am I at meeting here a cavalier who has won my entire regard! What! were you inquiring after me? In what can I serve you?"
"It was all a misconception on my part, I can assure you; but, if you have not forgotten your visit to the Secunda Monterilla,[2] you may perhaps recall to your memory your object in coming there."
"Do you live there?" You can then boast that you have come more than two leagues in search of me.'
"I have gone two hundred and forty to meet you," I answered, "and find you here at last."
The bravo replied by the same constrained smile I had seen his face wear the first time I met him. "I was seeking for a foreigner with whom I had been engaged to do a little business, and an error that I now recognize alone conducted me to you; but I know you now, Señor Cavalier, and will not commit the same blunder a second time. I only need to see a person once to remember him ever after. I never forget faces, even at the end of twenty years."
These last words were accented in such a way as to leave me in no doubt of the ruffian's meaning. I said not a word, but the bravo seemed to have repented of having shown any resentment. Turning to the hostess, and in a tone of rough gayety,
"Halloo, Patrona!" cried he; "you have doubtless supplied this cavalier, whom I hold in particular esteem, with the best fare your house affords?"
"I have supped," I said, interrupting him, "and I must only express my perfect satisfaction with our hostess's arrangements; besides, I am not hungry."
"Well, we shall drink to our unexpected meeting. Patrona, bring us a bottle of Catalonian brandy."
I was quite at a loss how to decline this forced invitation that prudence was urging me to accept, when Captain Don Blas P, or rather lieutenant, for he held the former title only by courtesy, rose from the table, and advanced to welcome me.
"You are one of us, captain, I hope?" said the bravo.
The captain accepted his offer; but, emboldened by his presence, I formally refused.
"I am much jaded and tired," I said, "and would rather go to my room. Captain Don Blas, if your road lies the same way as mine, I should be happy to profit by your company, and to-morrow at break of day we might pursue our journey to Mexico together."
Don Blas excused himself at not being able to agree to my proposal by stating that certain very important business would detain him all next day in the neighborhood. He then sat down opposite Don Tomas, before whom the hostess had already placed the bottle of Catalonian brandy.
"Good-night, then, Señores," I exclaimed. "I hope your slumbers will be as refreshing as mine."
I settled my bill, and, disguising my precipitate retreat under an air of haughty defiance, quitted the room with measured steps, the bravo all the while regarding my motions with indirect glances. I reached my room, fearing more the oily silkiness of Don Tomas than his anger. I found Cecilio sleeping on our saddles.
"Listen!" I said, awakening him. "Saddle our horses immediately without any noise; then bring them round to the back of the venta, and wait for me there. In a quarter of an hour I shall be with you."
That time had hardly elapsed when I quitted the hostelry without being observed. My flight at this time formed a striking contrast to that which I had shared so cheerfully with Don Jaime. I need not say that we covered the distance between Arroyo Zarco and Mexico still more rapidly than on our departure: the parts only were changed. The man before whom I was flying was that very person I had been pursuing so long. Thank Heaven, the issue of this adventure was not tragical, as I feared at one time it would have become.