The Tiger Hunter

Blinded by rage, Caldelas turned his horse, leaving to Don Rafael the duty of collecting the dispersed soldiers, and, furiously plying the spur, he galloped off towards the ground where Regules was still contesting the issue with Trujano.

Meanwhile Don Cornelio was going at full speed on his message to Morelos. He was not proceeding in a very direct line, however. Not desiring to get again embroiled in the battle, he had resolved on making a wide circuit round a vast field of maize, that extended along the edge of the plain, and slightly elevated above it. Every now and then he endeavoured to discover whether he was opposite the position held by Morelos; but in this he was unsuccessful; for the blades of the maize plants rising above his head hindered him from having a view over the plain. He at length reached a crossroad; and, deeming that he had ridden far enough to put him beyond the ground occupied by the Royalist forces, he turned his horse along the road, still going at a gallop.

The combatants were hidden from his view by a thicket of low bushes that skirted the side of the road. This, however, at length terminated abruptly; and Don Cornelio, riding into the open ground, all at once found himself in the presence of a large body of Spanish soldiers, who appeared in front of him forming a semicircle of swords, bayonets, and lances.

Terrified at the excess of his involuntary boldness, he turned his horse upon the instant, and plunged back into the crossroad; but he had scarce made three lengths of his horse in the back direction, when he saw riding towards him a Spanish officer, who, pistol in hand, and with a countenance red with rage, was uttering the most emphatic threats and protestations. In another instant they must meet face to face.

The advancing horseman had his eyes fixed upon the field of battle; and, although he did not appear to be aware of the approach of Don Cornelio, the latter had no other belief than that he himself was the object of the blasphemous menaces. If the Spaniard was not expressly searching after him to kill him, why should he thus cut off his retreat by the crossroad – the only direction that offered him a chance of escape?

Believing that the horseman was advancing to assail him, and suddenly nerved by despair, the Captain, on his side, charged forward; and delivering a vigorous thrust with the lance, he pierced his unsuspecting antagonist through the body, striking him lifeless out of his saddle!

A cry of grief reached the ears of the ex-student, coming from another part of the field; but not staying to see who had uttered it, he again spurred his steed along the crossroad – determined this time to make a détour sufficiently wide before heading towards the position of Morelos.

He had not gone far, however, when he heard a loud voice hailing him from behind; while the hoarse snorting of a horse was mingled with the cries – a snorting that resembled the roaring of a jaguar, and for that reason awakened within him the most terrible souvenirs.

“It is surely the horse of the Apocalypse?” muttered the ex-student of theology, while using every effort to maintain the distance that lay between himself and this mysterious pursuer.

In order to gallop more freely, he had flung away the lance, and was now plying the spurs with all the energy of a racing jockey; but still the singular snorting appeared to grow louder, and the pursuer was evidently gaining upon him.

To say the least, the situation of Captain Lantejas was becoming critical – to judge by the fierce zeal exhibited by his pursuer. Perhaps in all his life the ex-student had never been in a position of greater peril than at that moment.

Just as he was about reaching the crossing of the roads, he heard close behind him the breathing of the man who was in pursuit of him; and, glancing over his shoulder, he saw the head of the animal he had termed the horse of the Apocalypse – almost on a level with the croup of his saddle.

In another moment, a vigorous hand seized him by the collar, that lifting him out of his stirrups, dragged him backward, till he felt that he was lying across the pummel of his adversary’s saddle.

Don Cornelio now saw a poignard raised to strike, which flashed before his sight like the sword of an archangel. He closed his eyes, believing his last hour had come; when all at once the arm fell, and a voice cried out —

“Tomal Why it is Don Cornelio Lantejas!”

The ex-student reopened his eyes; and, looking up, recognised the young officer in whose company he had journeyed, on his way to San Salvador, whom he had afterwards met at the hacienda Las Palmas.

Chapter Fifty.

A Splendid Stroke

Surrounded by his staff, Morelos still continued to watch the progress of events. From the commanding position which he held, almost every incident of the battle could be observed. Even those occurring at the most distant point of the field were observable through the medium of the telescope. Among other objects that had attracted his notice was a horseman going at full gallop along the crossroad, which led from the field of maize to the Royalist encampment.

“Ha!” exclaimed he to an officer of his staff; “if I’m not mistaken, it is our Captain Lantejas who is galloping down yonder. Where can he be going? No doubt he is about to strike one of those improvised, decisive blows in which he excels – as when at Cuautla, he dashed his horse full tilt against the gigantic Spanish cuirassier, and received the sabre stroke that might else have fallen upon my own skull. Fortunately his sword turned in the hand of the Spaniard, and Don Cornelio was struck by the flat side of the blade, which only knocked him out of his saddle, without doing him any great injury.”

“Señor General,” remarked the officer, with some show of hesitation; “there are evil-disposed persons, who pretend to say that – that – ”

“What do they pretend to say?” demanded Morelos.

“Why, that on the occasion of which your Excellency speaks, the horse of Señor Lantejas was running away with him.”

“An odious calumny!” pronounced Morelos, in a severe tone. “Envy is always the proof of merit.”

At this moment, Don Cornelio disappeared from off the crossroad; and Morelos now saw coming in the same direction a Spanish officer also going at a gallop.

“Santissima!” cried Morelos, recognising the latter through his glass. “As I live, it is the brave Caldelas, who also appears to have been seized with vertigo! What can all this galloping mean?”

It was in reality Caldelas, who, pistol in hand, was searching for Regules, to accomplish the threat he had made.

Just then Don Cornelio again appeared in the crossroad; but this time going in the opposite direction, as if charging forward to meet Caldelas.

“See!” cried Morelos to his staff. “Look yonder – an encounter between Caldelas and the Captain! Ha! what was I saying to you? Viva Dios! – did you ever see such a beautiful coup de lance? He has struck down the most formidable of our enemies. Huzza! Victory is ours! The Spaniards are scattering! They yield the ground, and all because their bravest leader has been slain. Now, sir!” continued the General, turning to the officer who had doubted the courage of Don Cornelio; “will that silence the detractors of Señor Lantejas? To whom, if not to him, are we indebted for this splendid victory? Presently you will see him ride with his accustomed modesty, to say that he has simply done his duty. Otherwise, should he present himself to be complimented, he shall find his mistake: I must reprimand him for being too rash.”

“Happy is he whom your Excellency is pleased to reprimand in such fashion,” said the officer, withdrawing to one side.

“Let us onward!” exclaimed Morelos. “The action is over – the siege is raised, and our enemies are in full retreat. To Yanguitlan, and then – to take up our winter-quarters in the capital of Oajaca!”

On pronouncing these word, Morelos remounted his horse and rode off, followed by his officers.

We return to Colonel Tres-Villas and the ex-student of theology.

Notwithstanding the violent wrath of Don Rafael against the man who had killed his brave comrade, Caldelas, there was something so ludicrously comic in the countenance of the ex-student – so much innocent simplicity in its expression – that the resentment of Don Rafael vanished upon the instant. Then, quick as a flash of lightning, came over him the remembrance of that day – at the same time terrible and delightful – when parting from the student of theology, he had hurried forward to see Gertrudis, and receive from her the avowal of her love – alas! too soon forgotten!

These souvenirs – but more especially that recalling the daughter of Don Mariano – formed the aegis of the ex-student. A bitter smile curled upon the lip of Don Rafael, as he looked upon the pale and feeble youth within his grasp. “If such a man,” thought he, “has been able to give his death-blow to the valiant Caldelas – whose very glance he could scarce have borne – it must be that the hours of the vice-royalty are numbered.”

“You may thank your stars,” he continued, addressing himself to Lantejas, “for having fallen into the hands of one, who is hindered by old memories from revenging upon you the death of the valiant Caldelas, the bravest of the Spanish chiefs.”

“Ah! is the brave Caldelas dead?” inquired Don Cornelio, scarce sensible of what he was saying. “Is it possible? But it must be so, if you say it. In any case, I pardon him, and you too.”

“Very gracious of you,” rejoined Don Rafael, with a sarcastic smile.

“More than you think,” replied the ex-student, a little restored to his senses at finding his exploit was to be forgiven. “You have no idea of the terrible fright that he and you caused me just now. But, Señor Don Rafael – with your permission – I am in a very uncomfortable position for conversing – ”

“Perhaps you will pardon me again for setting you safe and sound upon your feet?” said Don Rafael, permitting the captain to slide gently to the ground. “Adieu, then, Captain!” continued he, about to ride away. “I leave you, regretting that I have not time to inquire how it is that the peace-loving student, so terribly frightened at the mandate of the Bishop of Oajaca against the insurrection has become transformed into an officer of the insurgent army?”

“And I,” replied Lantejas, “I should like to know how it is that a captain in the Queen’s Dragoons, who did not appear to view that same mandate with a favourable eye, is to-day one of the bitterest adversaries of the insurrection? If it pleases you, Señor Don Rafael, to sit down here beside me, and let us discourse a bit – like the old Paladins, who often interrupted their deadliest combats for such a purpose – it would be much more agreeable to me than returning to the battle-field.”

A sombre shadow passed over the countenance of Don Rafael at the allusion made to the change of his opinions. Both officers presented a striking example of how little man can do to direct his own destiny, and how much he is the sport of circumstances. Both were, in fact, serving the cause opposed to that of their heart’s choice.

Just then a series of loud huzzas and vivas of triumph came from both sides of the battle-field; but it was impossible for either of them to tell upon which side the victory had declared itself.

“Ah! Señor Don Rafael,” cried the ex-student, “if our side has succumbed, then I am your prisoner.”

“And if you are victorious, I am not yours,” responded the Colonel, casting towards Lantejas a glance of contempt that he could not conceal – while at the same time he gathered up the reins of his bridle.

As he did so, at both extremities of the road appeared a number of mounted men, whose half-military equipments proclaimed them to be insurgents. One was heard to call out —

“Señor Colonel! Yonder he is – Don Cornelio still living and well!”

It was Costal who spoke.

In another moment both the Captain and Don Rafael were surrounded by the horsemen.

Chapter Fifty One.

A Generous Enemy

The situation of Don Rafael had now become as critical as was that of Lantejas but the moment before. His pistols had been discharged; his sabre, broken in the battle, he had flung from him; and the only arm of which he could now avail himself was the dagger so near being sheathed in the heart of Don Cornelio.

During the Mexican revolutionary war but few prisoners were taken by the Royalists; and the cruelties exercised upon those that were, naturally led to retaliation. On both sides it was a war of extermination. The lives of captives were rarely spared, even after they had voluntarily surrendered.

Don Rafael, therefore, had made up his mind to sell his life as dearly as he could, rather than fall into the hands of his enemies, when one of them, an officer, addressing Lantejas, called out, in a voice which the latter recognised —

“Ah! Captain Lantejas! haste and come this way. The General wishes to thank you for the victory which you have given us.”

Don Rafael also recognised the officer, who was advancing at a gallop; and brave though Tres-Villas was, it was not without satisfaction that the enemy he saw coming towards him was Colonel Trujano, the ex-muleteer.

Trujano, on his side, at the same instant recognised the royalist officer.

Don Rafael, too proud to appeal to old friendships for protection – even to one whose life he had saved, in return for a similar service – put spurs to his horse, and galloped towards Trujano. With such impetuosity did he ride, that in another instant the two horses would have come into collision, had not the bridle of Don Rafael’s been grasped by a hand – the hand of Lantejas! The Captain, at the risk of being crushed under the hoofs of both horses – moved by the generosity which Don Rafael had so lately bestowed upon him – rushed between the two horsemen as a mediator.

“Colonel Trujano!” cried he, “I do not know what you mean in saying that the General is indebted to me for a victory; but, if I have done anything that deserves a recompense, I do not wish any other than the life and liberty of Don Rafael Tres-Villas.”

“I ask favours from no one,” interrupted Don Rafael, with a haughty glance towards Trujano.

“You will grant me one – that of giving me your hand,” said the ex-muleteer, at the same time cordially holding out his own.

“Never to a conqueror!” exclaimed Don Rafael, though evidently affected, in spite of himself, by the action and speech of his generous enemy.

“Here there is neither conqueror nor conquered,” rejoined Trujano, with that winning smile that gained all hearts. “There is a man, however, who always remembers a service done to him.”

“And another who never forgets one,” repeated Don Rafael, with warmth, at the same time grasping the hand that was still held towards him.

Then the two horsemen drew their horses nearer, and exchanged the most cordial greetings.

Trujano profited by this occasion to whisper in the ear of his enemy, and with a delicacy which still further moved Don Rafael, whose pride he had treated with such condescension —

“Go – you are free. Only promise not to cut the hair off the heads of any more poor women; although it is said there was one whose heart trembled with pride that the conqueror of Aguas Calientes should send her such a terrible souvenir. Go!” added he, withdrawing his hand from the convulsive grasp of Don Rafael, “deliver yourself up a prisoner at the hacienda Las Palmas, where the road is open for you, believe me.”

Then, as if he had too long occupied himself with the trivial affairs of the world, the countenance of Trujano resumed its expression of ascetic gravity, and when the eye of Don Rafael was interrogating it, in hopes of reading there the true signification of the last words, the insurgent chieftain called out —

“Let Don Rafael Tres-Villas pass free! Let every one forget what has occurred.”

Saying this, he formally saluted the Royalist colonel with his sword, who could only return the salute with a glance of the most profound gratitude.

Don Rafael pressed the hand of the Captain; and bowing coldly to the other insurgents, rode out from their midst. Then, urging his horse into a gallop, he followed the road that led outward from the plain of Huajapam.

On finding himself alone, he reduced the speed of his horse to a walk, and became absorbed in a reverie of reflection. The last words of Trujano – what could they mean? “The road is open for you, believe me.” Was it an assurance that he should be welcomed at the hacienda of Las Palmas? Should he proceed thither, as the insurgent colonel had counselled him? or should he go direct to Del Valle, to make arrangements for his last campaign against the brigand Arroyo?

Once more had commenced the struggle between love and duty.

Don Rafael would not have hesitated long as to the course he should pursue, had some good genius only made known to him a certain fact – that at that same hour an accident was occurring at the hacienda Del Valle, of a nature to reconcile the two conflicting sentiments that had warped the thread of his destiny.

A messenger from Don Mariano – the same who had brought back Roncador to Del Valle – had on that very day again presented himself at the hacienda. This time his errand was one of a purely personal nature – to Don Rafael Tres-Villas himself.

“Where are you from?” demanded Veraegui of the messenger, in his usual blunt Catalonian fashion.

“Oajaca!”

“Who has sent you?”

“Don Mariano de Silva.”

“What do you want with the Colonel?”

“I can only declare my errand to the Colonel himself.”

“Then you will have to go to Huajapam first – that is, unless you prefer to wait till he arrives here. We expect him in three or four days.”

“I prefer going to Huajapam,” rejoined the man “my errand is of such a nature that it will not bear delay.”

This messenger was on his way to Huajapam, and not more than thirty leagues from the town, at the moment when Don Rafael was leaving it to proceed in the opposite direction.

Meanwhile Trujano, returning to the field of battle covered with the bodies of his dead and wounded enemies, caused all his soldiers to kneel, and publicly render thanks to God for having delivered them from their long and painful siege. Morelos at the same moment ordered his troops to prostrate themselves in prayer; and then a psalm was sung by all in chorus, to consecrate the important victory they had gained.

Don Rafael was still not so distant from the field but that he could hear the swelling of many voices in the pious chaunt. The sounds fell with melancholy effect upon his ears, until the tears began to chase themselves over his cheeks.

In reviewing the circumstances which had influenced him to change his line of conduct in regard to this revolution, he reflected that had he given way to more generous instincts, and not allowed himself to be forced astray by the desire of fulfilling a rash vow, his voice would at that moment have been mingling with theirs – one of the loudest in giving thanks for the success of a cause of which he was now the irreconcilable enemy!

With an effort he repulsed these reflections, and sternly resolved upon going to the hacienda Del Valle, to re-steel his heart over the tomb of his father.

A perilous journey it would be for him. The whole province – the capital and one or two other places excepted – was now in the hands of the insurgents; and a royalist officer could not travel the roads without great risk of falling into their hands.

“God protects him who does his duty,” muttered Don Rafael, as he again turned his horse to the roads, spurring him into a gallop, in order that the sound of his hoofs might drown that pious song, which, by stirring up sad souvenirs, was fast weakening his resolution.

In another hour he had crossed the Sierra which bounded the plain of Huajapam, and was following the road which led southward to the hacienda Del Valle.

Chapter Fifty Two.

Rude Guests

Let us now recount the events which took place at the hacienda Las Palmas from the day on which Captain Tres-Villas was compelled to leave Don Mariano and his two daughters at the mercy of the ferocious robbers Arroyo and Bocardo.

The two guerilleros had sought refuge there, with the remnant of their band – most of which had been already destroyed by Tres-Villas and Caldelas. From the moment of first entering his house, they had insisted upon a footing of perfect equality between themselves and their old master. Even Gertrudis and Marianita were not exempted from this compulsory social levelling. The brigands ate at the same table with Don Mariano and his daughters – were waited upon by the servants of the hacienda – and slept in the very best beds the house afforded.

All the while Bocardo was observed to cast covetous glances on the silver plate – which, as is customary in the houses of Mexican ricos, was massive and abundant.

In Don Mariano’s presence he was in the habit of frequently making allusion to the richness of the Royalists; and behind his back he had several times endeavoured to persuade Arroyo that one who was the proprietor of such wealth, as was enjoyed by the haciendado, could not be otherwise than an enemy to the insurgent cause, and, at the bottom of his heart, a friend to the oppressors of the country.

“Look at us, poor insurgents!” he would say, “often reduced – especially when absent from this hospitable mansion – to use our fingers for forks, and our tortillas for spoons!”

And the wind-up of his argument always was, that they “ought to treat as a Royalist a master who dined every day upon silver plates – that Don Mariano should be reduced to the same condition as other patriotic insurgents, and use his fingers for forks, while his plates should be converted into piastres.”

Up to a certain period Arroyo rejected these proposals of his comrade. Not that he had any more respect for the property of Don Mariano than his associate had; but rather that he was not yet sufficiently hardened to reckless outrage, as to perpetrate such an audacious robbery on one who was publicly known to be a friend to the insurgent cause. We say, up to a certain time Arroyo preserved these egotistical scruples; but that time terminated on the day and hour when, in the presence of his old master, and the whole household of Las Palmas, he was forced to endure the terrible insults inflicted upon him by the dragoon captain. From that moment he transferred a portion of his vengeful hatred for Don Rafael to the haciendado and his daughters; and it is possible that on his leaving Las Palmas the night after – which the dangerous proximity of Del Valle influenced him to do – he would have left bloody traces behind him, but for the interference of his associate Bocardo.

The latter, in his turn, had counselled moderation. More covetous of gold, and less thirsty of blood than Arroyo, the astute brigand had represented, that “there could be no great blame attached to them for using the silver of Don Mariano to serve the good cause of the insurrection; that the more needy of the insurgents might justly demand aid from their richer brethren, but not their lives or their blood.”

Arroyo no longer combated the proposals of his confrère. To him they now appeared moderate; and the result was, that the two forbans collected all of Don Mariano’s silver they could lay their hands upon, with such other valuables as were portable – and, having made a distribution among their followers, decamped that night from Las Palmas, taking good care in their Haegira to give the hacienda of Del Valle a wide berth.

With regard to Don Mariano and his daughters, they were only too happy that nothing worse than robbery had been attempted by the brigands. They had dreaded outrage as well as spoliation; and they were rejoiced at being left with their lives and honour uninjured.

Made aware, by this episode, of the danger of living any longer in a house isolated as Las Palmas – which might be at the mercy any moment of either royalists or insurgents – Don Mariano bethought him of retiring to Oajaca. He would be safer there – even though the town was thoroughly devoted to the cause of the king; for, as yet, his political opinions had not been declared sufficiently to compromise him. For some days, however, circumstances of one kind or another arose to hinder him from putting this project into execution.