The Red Track: A Story of Social Life in Mexico

The sister then left the parlour, after begging the two gentlemen to wait a moment. During her absence the Frenchman and his companion did not exchange a syllable; however, this absence was short, and only lasted a few minutes.

Without speaking, the sister made the visitors a sign to follow her, and led them to the parlour where we have already taken the reader, and where the abbess was waiting for them.

The Mother Superior was pale, and seemed anxious and preoccupied. She invited the two gentlemen to sit down, and waited silently till they addressed her. They, on their side, seemed to be waiting for her to inquire the nature of their visit; but, as she did not do so, and this silence threatened to be prolonged for some time, Mr. Rallier resolved on breaking it.

"I had the honour, madam," he said, with a respectful bow, "to send you yesterday, by one of my servants, a letter, in which I informed you of this morning's visit."

"Yes, caballero," she at once, answered, "I duly received this letter, and your sister Helena is ready to go away with you, whenever you express the wish. Still permit me to make one request of you."

"Speak, madam, and if I can be of any service to you, believe me, that I shall eagerly seize the opportunity."

"I know not, caballero, how to explain myself, for what I have to say to you is really so strange that I fear lest it should call up a smile to your lips. Although Doña Helena has only been a few months in our convent, she has made herself so beloved by all her companions, through her charming character, that her departure is an occasion of mourning for all of us."

"You render me very happy and very proud by speaking thus of my sister, madam."

"This praise is only the expression of the strictest truth, caballero. We are all really most grieved to see her leave us thus. Still, I should not have ventured thus to make myself the interpreter of our regrets, were there not a very strong reason that renders it almost a duty to speak to you."

"I am listening to you, madam, though I can guess beforehand what you are going to say to me."

She looked at him in surprise.

"You guess! Oh, it is impossible, señor," she exclaimed.

The Frenchman smiled.

"My sister, Doña Helena, as is generally the case in convents, has chosen one of her companions, whom she loves more than the others, and made her her intimate friend. Is such the case, madam?"

"How do you know it?"

He continued; with a smile —

"Now, this young lady, so beloved not only by Helena but by you, madam, and all your community, is a gentle, kind, loving girl, who, in consequence of a great misfortune, became insane, but whom your tender care has restored to reason. Still, you keep the latter fact a profound secret, before all from her guardian, who, not contented with having stripped her of her fortune, now insists of robbing her of her happiness by forcing her to marry him."

"Señor, señor," the abbess exclaimed, as she rose from her seat, with an astonishment blended with terror, "who are you that you know so many things of which I believed the whole world ignorant?"

"Who am I, madam? the brother of Helena, that is to say, a man in whom you can place the most entire confidence. Hence permit me to proceed."

The abbess, still suffering from extreme agitation, sat down again.

"Go on, caballero," she said.

"The guardian of Doña Anita, either that he has suspicion, or for some other motive, wrote to you yesterday, ordering you to prepare her to marry him within twenty-four hours. Since the receipt of this fatal letter, Doña Anita has been plunged in the deepest despair, a despair further heightened by the sudden departure of my sister, the only friend in whose arms she can safely reveal her heart's secrets. But you, madam, who are so holy and good, are aware that God can at his pleasure confound the projects of the wicked, and change wormwood into honey. Did you not receive a visit yesterday from Don Serapio de la Ronda?"

"Yes, that gentleman deigned to visit me a few moments before I received the fatal letter to which you have referred."

"Did not Don Serapio, on leaving you, say these words: 'Be kind enough to inform Doña Anita that a friend is watching over her; that this friend has already given her unequivocal proofs of the interest he takes in her happiness, and that, on the day when she again sees the Franciscan monk, to whom she confessed once before, all her misfortunes will be ended?'"

"Yes, Don Serapio did utter those words."

"Well, madam, I am sent to you, not only by him, but by another person, who is no less than the President of the Republic, not only to take away my sister but also to ask you to deliver up to me Doña Anita, who will accompany her."

"Heaven is my witness, señor, that I would be delighted to do what you ask of me. Unhappily, it is not in my power; Doña Anita was entrusted to me by her sole relation, who is at the same time her guardian, and though he is unworthy of that title, and my heart bleeds in refusing you, it is to him alone that I am bound to deliver her."

"This objection, madam, the justice of which I fully appreciate, has been foreseen by the persons whose representative I am. Hence they consulted on the means to remove the scruples by entirely releasing you from responsibility. Father, give this lady the paper, of which you are the bearer."

Without uttering a word, Don Martial took from his pocket the blank signature Valentine had entrusted to him, and handed it to the abbess.

"What is this?" she asked.

"Madam," the Frenchman answered, "that paper is a blank signature of the President of the Republic, who orders you to deliver Doña Anita into my hands."

"I see it," she said, sorrowfully; "unfortunately this blank signature, which would everywhere else have the strength of the law, is powerless here. We only indirectly depend on the temporal power, but are completely subjugated to the spiritual power, and we can only receive orders from it."

The Tigrero took a side glance, full of despair, at his companion, whose face was still smiling.

"What would you require, madam," he continued, "in order to consent to give up this unhappy young lady to me?"

"Alas, señor, it is not I who refuse compliance. Heaven is my witness that it is my greatest desire to see her escape from her persecutor."

"I am thoroughly convinced of that, madam; that is why, feeling persuaded of your good feeling towards your charge, I ask you to tell me what authority you require in order to give her up to me."

"I cannot, señor, allow Doña Anita to quit this convent without a perfectly regular order, signed by Monseigneur the Archbishop of Mexico, who alone has the right to command here, and whom I am compelled to obey."

"And if I had that order, madam, all your scruples would be removed?"

"Yes, all, señor."

"You would have no further difficulty in allowing Doña Anita to depart?"

"I would deliver her to you at once, señor."

"Since that is the case, madam, I will ask you to do so, for I have brought you that order."

"You have it?" she said, with undisguised delight.

"Here it is," he answered, as he took a paper from his pocketbook, and handed it to her.

She opened it at once, and eagerly perused it.

"Oh now," she continued, "Doña Anita is free, and I will – "

"One moment, madam," he interrupted her, "have you carefully read the order I had the honour of giving you?"

"Yes, sir."

"In that case be kind enough to allow the young ladies to put on secular clothing, and, as their departure must be kept secret, allow my carriage to enter the front courtyard. I fancied I saw ill-looking fellows prowling about the neighbourhood, who looked to me like spies."

"What must I say, though, to the young lady's guardian? I am going to see him today."

"I am aware of that, madam. Gain time; tell him that his ward is ill; that you have succeeded in gaining her consent to the projected marriage, but, on the condition that it be deferred for eight and forty hours. It is a falsehood I am suggesting to you, madam, but it is necessary, and I feel convinced that heaven will pardon it."

"Oh, do not be anxious about that, señor. I will gladly take on myself the responsibility of this falsehood; Doña Anita's guardian will not dare to oppose so short a delay, however well inclined he may be to do so: but in forty-eight hours?"

"In forty-hours, madam," the Frenchman answered in a hollow voice, "General Guerrero will not come to claim the hand of Doña Anita."

CHAPTER XXIII

ON THE ROAD

All the scruples of the Mother Superior – honourable scruples, let us hasten to add – having thus been removed, one after the other, by Mr. Rallier, by means of the double orders he had been careful to provide himself with, the next thing was to see about getting the two boarders away without further day.

The abbess, who understood the importance of a speedy conclusion, left her visitors in the parlour, and, in order to avoid any misunderstanding, herself undertook to fetch the two young ladies, after giving a lay sister orders to call the carriage into the first courtyard.

In a religious community, one of women before all – we do not mean this satirically – whatever may be done, and whatever precautions may be taken, nothing can long be kept a secret. Hence, the two gentlemen had scarcely entered the speaking room of the abbess ere the rumour of the departure of Doña Anita and Doña Helena spread among the nuns with extreme rapidity. Who spread the news no one could have told, and yet everybody spoke about it as a certainty.

The young ladies were naturally the first informed. At the outset their anxiety was great, and Doña Anita trembled, for she believed that she was fetched by order of her guardian, and that the monk speaking with the abbess was the one sent by the general to make immediate preparations for her marriage. Hence, when the abbess entered Doña Helena's cell, she found the pair in each other's arms, and weeping bitterly.

Fortunately, the mistake was soon cleared up, and the sorrow converted into joy when the abbess, who, through sympathy, wept as much as her boarders, explained that of the two strangers, whom they feared so greatly, one was the brother of Doña Helena, and the other the Franciscan monk whom Doña Anita had already seen, and that they had come, not to add to her sufferings, but to remove her from the tyranny that oppressed her.

Doña Helena, on hearing that her brother was at the convent, bounded with joy, and removed her friend's last doubts, for, like all unhappy persons. Doña Anita clung greedily to this new hope of salvation, which was thus allowed to germinate in her heart at a moment when she believed that she had no chance left of escaping her evil destiny.

The abbess then urged them to complete their preparations for departure, helped them to change their dress, and, after embracing them several times, conducted them to the parlour.

In order to avoid any disturbance when the young ladies left the convent, where everybody adored them, the abbess had the good idea of sending the nuns to their cells. It was a very prudent measure, which, by preventing leave-taking, also prevented any noisy manifestations of cries and tears, the sound of which might have been heard outside, and have fallen on hostile ears.

The leave-taking was short, for there was no time to lose in vain compliments. The young ladies drew down their veils, and proceeded to the courtyard under the guidance of the abbess. The carriage had been drawn as close as possible to the cloisters, and the court was entirely deserted, only the abbess, the sister porter, and a confidential nun witnessing the departure.

As the Frenchman opened the door of the carriage, a piece of paper lying on the seat caught his eyes. He seized it without being seen, and hid it in the hollow of his hand. After kissing the good abbess for the last time, the young ladies took the back seat, and Don Martial the front, as did Mr. Rallier, after previously whispering to the coachman, that is, to Curumilla, two Indian words, to which he replied by a sinister grin. Then, at a signal from the abbess, the convent gates were opened, and the carriage started at full speed, drawn by six powerful mules.

The crowd silently made room for it to pass, the gates closed again immediately, and the carriage almost immediately disappeared round the corner of the next street.

It was about seven o'clock in the morning. The fugitives – for we can give them no other name – galloped in silence for the first ten or fifteen minutes, when the Frenchman gently touched his companion's shoulder, and offered him the paper he had found in the carriage.

"Read!" he said.

The paper only contained two words, hurriedly written in pencil —

"Take care."

"Oh, oh," the Tigrero exclaimed, turning pale, "what does this mean?"

"By Jove," the Frenchman answered cautiously, "it means that in spite of our precautions, or perhaps on account of them, for in these confounded affairs a man never knows how to act in order to deceive the persons he fears, we are discovered, and probably have spies at our heels."

"Caray! and what will become of the young ladies in the event of a dispute?"

"In the event of a fight you mean, for there will be an obstinate one, I foretell. Well, we will defend them as well as we can."

"I know that; but suppose we are killed?"

"Ah! there is that chance; but I never think of that till after the event."

"Oh heaven!" Doña Anita murmured, as she hid her head in her friend's bosom.

"Re-assure yourself, señorita," the Frenchman continued, "and, above all, be silent, for the sound of your voice might be recognized, and change into certainty what may still be only a suspicion. Besides, remember that if you have enemies, you have also friends, since they took the precaution to warn us. Now, in all probability, this unknown offerer of advice will not have stopped there, but thought of the means to come to our assistance in the most effectual manner."

The carriage went along in the meanwhile at a breakneck pace, and had nearly reached the city gates. We will now tell what had happened, and how the Frenchman was warned of the danger that threatened him.

General Don Sebastian Guerrero had organized a band of spies composed of leperos and scoundrels, who, however, possessed acknowledged cleverness and skill, and if Valentine had escaped their surveillance and foiled their machinations, it was solely through the habits which he had contracted during a lengthened life in the prairies, and which had become an intuition with him, so far did he carry the quality of scenting and unmasking an enemy, whatever might be the countenance he borrowed. But if he had not been recognized, it was not the same with his friends, and the latter had not been able long to escape the lynx eyes of the general's spies.

The Convent of the Bernardines had naturally become for some days past the centre of the surveillance, as it were the spying headquarters, of Don Sebastian's agents. The arrival of a carriage with closed blinds at the convent at once gave the alarm; and though Mr. Rallier was not personally known, the fact of his being a Frenchman was sufficient to rouse suspicions.

While the Frenchman and the monk were conversing in the parlour with the abbess, a lepero pretended to hurt himself, and was conveyed by two of his acolytes to the convent gate, and the good hearted porter had not refused him admission, but, on the contrary, had eagerly given him all the assistance his condition seemed to require.

While the lepero was gradually regaining his senses, his comrades asked questions with that captious skill peculiar to their Mexican nature. The sister porter was a worthy woman, endowed with a very small stock of brains, and fond of talking. On finding this opportunity to indulge in her favourite employment, she was easily led on, and, almost of her own accord, told all she knew, not suspecting the harm she did. Let us hasten to add that this all was very little; but, being understood and commented on by intelligent men interested in discovering the truth, it was extremely serious.

When the three leperos had drawn all they could out of the sister porter, they hastened to leave the convent. Just as they emerged into the street, they found themselves face to face with Ño Carnero, the general's capataz, whom his master had sent on a tour of discovery. They ran up to him, and in a few words told him what had happened.

This was grave, and the capataz trembled inwardly at the revelation, for he understood the terrible danger by which his friends were menaced. But Carnero was a clever man, and at once made up his mind to his course of action.

He greatly praised the leperos for the skill they had displayed in discovering the secret, put some piastres into their hands, and sent them off to the general, with the recommendation, which was most unnecessary, to make all possible speed. Then, in his turn, he began prowling round the convent, and especially the carriage, which Curumilla made no difficulty in letting him approach, for the reader will doubtless have guessed that the animosity the Indian had on several occasions evinced for the capataz was pretended, and that they were perfectly good friends when nobody could see or hear them.

The capataz skilfully profited by the confusion created in the crowd by the carriage entering the convent, to throw in, unperceived, the paper Mr. Rallier had found. Certain now that his friends would be on their guard, he went off in his turn, after recommending the spies he left before the convent to keep up a good watch, and walked in the direction of the Plaza Mayor smoking a cigarette.

At the corner of the Calle de Plateros he saw a man standing in front of a pulquería, engaged in smoking an enormous cigar. The capataz entered the pulquería, drank a glass of Catalonian refino, but while paying, he clumsily let fall a piastre which rolled to the foot of the man standing in the doorway. The latter stooped, picked up the coin, and restored it to its owner, and the capataz walked out, doubtless satisfied with the quality of the spirit he had imbibed, and cautiously continued his way. On reaching the plaza again, the man of the pulquería, who was probably going the same road as himself, was at his heels.

"Belhumeur?" the capataz asked in a low voice, without turning round.

"Eh?" the other answered in the same key.

"The general knows the affair at the convent; if you do not make haste, Don Martial, Don Antonio, and the two ladies will be attacked on the road while going to the quinta; warn your friend, for there is not a moment to lose. Devil take the cigarette!" he added, throwing it away, "it has gone out."

When he turned back, Belhumeur had disappeared; the Canadian with his characteristic agility was already running in the direction of Valentine's house. As for the capataz, as he was in no particular hurry, he quietly walked back to the general's, where he found his master in a furious passion with all his people, and more particularly with himself.

By an accident, too portentous not to have been arranged beforehand, not one of his horses could be mounted; three were foundered, four others had been bled, and the last three were without shoes. In the midst of this the capataz arrived with a look of alarm, which only heightened his master's passion. Carnero prudently allowed the general's fury to grow a little calm, and then answered him.

He proved to him in the first place that he would commit a serious act of imprudence by himself starting in pursuit of the fugitives in the present state of affairs, and especially on the eve of a pronunciamiento which was about to decide his fortunes. Then he remarked to him that six peons, commanded by a resolute man, would be sufficient to conquer two men probably badly armed, and, in addition, shut up in a carriage with two ladies, whom they would not expose to the risk of being killed. These reasons being good, the general listened and yielded to them.

"Very good," he said; "Carnero, you are one of my oldest servants, and to you I entrust the duty of bringing back my niece."

The capataz made a wry face.

"There will be probably plenty of blows to receive, and very little profit to derive from such an expedition."

"I believed that you were devoted to me," the general remarked bitterly.

"Your excellency is not mistaken; I am truly devoted to you, but I have also a fondness for my skin."

"I will give you twenty-five ounces for every slit it receives; is that enough?"

"Come, I see that your excellency wishes me to be cut into mincemeat!" the capataz exclaimed joyously.

"Then that is agreed?"

"I should think so, excellency; at that price a man would be a fool to refuse."

"But about horses?"

"We have at least ten or a dozen in the corral."

"That is true; I did not think of that," the general exclaimed, striking his forehead; "have seven lassoed at once."

"Where must I take the señorita?"

"Bring her to this house, for she shall not set foot in the convent again."

"Very good; when shall I start, general?"

"At once, if it be possible."

"In twenty minutes I shall have left the house."

But the general's impatience was so great that he accompanied his capataz to the corral, watched all the preparations for the departure, and did not return to his apartments till he was certain that Carnero had started in pursuit of the fugitives, with the peons he had selected.

In the meanwhile the carriage dashed along; it passed at full gallop through the San Lázaro gate, then turned suddenly to the right, and entered a somewhat narrow street. At about the middle of this street it stopped before a house of rather modest appearance, the gate of which at once opened, and a man came out holding the bridles of two prairie mustangs completely harnessed, and with a rifle at each saddle-bow. The Frenchman got out, and invited his companion to follow his example.

"Resume your usual dress," he said, as he led him inside the house.

The Tigrero obeyed with an eager start of joy. While he doffed his gown, his companion mounted, after saying to the young ladies —

"Whatever happens, not a word – not a cry; keep the shutters up; we will gallop at the door, and remember your lives are in peril."

Martial at this moment came out of the house attired as a caballero.

"To horse, and let us be off," said Mr. Rallier.

The Tigrero bounded onto the mustang held in readiness for him, and the carriage, in which the mules had been changed, started again at full speed. The house at which they had stopped was the one hired by Valentine to keep his stud at.

Half an hour thus passed, and the carriage disappeared in the thick cloud of dust it raised as it dashed along. Don Martial felt new born; the excitement had restored his old ardour as if by enchantment; he longed to be face to face with his foe, and at length come to a settlement with him. The Frenchman was calmer; though brave to rashness, it was with secret anxiety he foresaw the probability of a fight, in which his sister might be wounded; still he was resolved, in the event of the worst, to confront the danger, no matter the number of men who ventured to attack them.

All at once the Indian uttered a cry. The two men looked back, and saw a body of men coming up at full speed. At this moment the carriage was following a road bounded on one side by a rather thick chaparral, on the other by a deep ravine.

At a sign from the Frenchman the carriage was drawn across the road, and the ladies got out; went, under Curumilla's protection, to seek shelter behind the trees. The two men, with their rifles to their shoulders and fingers on the triggers, stood firmly in the middle of the road, awaiting the onset of their adversaries, for, in all probability, the newcomers were enemies.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A SKIRMISH

Curumilla, after concealing, with that Indian skill he so thoroughly possessed, the young ladies at a spot where they were thoroughly protected from bullets, had placed himself, rifle in hand, not by the side of the two riders, but, with characteristic redskin prudence, he ambuscaded himself behind the carriage, probably reflecting that he represented the entire infantry force, and not caring, through a point of honour, very absurd in his opinion, to expose himself to a death not only certain, but useless to those he wished to defend.