Last of the Incas: A Romance of the Pampas
At this unexpected sound, which resembled a signal, the gauchos, who were talking eagerly together, were silent as if they had received an electric shock. Panchito and Corrocho started, and tried to see through the cloak that covered the stranger, while Patito turned his head away slightly to conceal a crafty smile.
The stranger threw away his half-consumed cigarette, and went out of the door as silently as he had entered it. A moment after, Panchito, who was wiping his cheek, and Corrocho, both pretending to remember some important business, quitted the pulquería. Patito glided along the wall to the door, and followed close at their heels.
"Hum!" the pulquero growled, "there are three scamps, who seem to be arranging some dog's trick, in which every man's head will not remain on his shoulders. Well, it is their business after all."
The other gauchos, completely absorbed in their game of monte, and bent over the cards, had not, so to speak, noticed the departure of their comrades. The stranger, when at some distance from the pulquería, turned round. The two gauchos were walking almost close behind him, and carelessly talking, like two loungers who were taking a walk.
Where was Patito? He had disappeared.
After making an almost imperceptible sign to the two gauchos, the stranger set out again, and followed a road which, by an insensible curve, left the waterside and gradually entered the plain. This road, after leaving Población, took a rather sharp turn, and suddenly contracted into a path, which, like the rest, appeared to be lost in the plain.
At the corner of the path a horseman, proceeding to the village, at a smart trot, passed the three men; but neither the gauchos nor the stranger, being, doubtless, busy with serious thought, remarked him. As for the rider, he gave them a rapid and piercing glance, and checked the pace of his horse, which stopped a few yards further on.
"Heaven pardon me!" he said to himself "'tis Don Torribio, or the Fiend, in flesh and bone. What can he be doing there in the company of those two bandits, who look to me exactly like imps of Satan? May I lose my name of Blas Salazar, if I won't find out, and set myself at their heels."
And he quickly dismounted. Señor Blas Salazar was a man of five-and-thirty at the most, rather above the average height, and somewhat corpulent; but, on the other hand, the squareness of his wide shoulders and his sturdy limbs indicated his muscular strength. A small gray eye, quick and sparkling with intelligence and boldness, lit up his open and frank countenance. His dress, with the exception of being a little more elegant, was that of the gauchos.
So soon as he dismounted he looked round, but there was no one to whom he could give his horse to hold; for at Carmen, especially in the Población del Sur, it is almost a miracle for two persons to meet. He stamped his foot angrily, passed the bridle over his arm, led his horse to the pulquería the gauchos had just left, and entrusted it to the landlord.
This duty performed, for the best friend of an Hispano-American is his horse, Blas retraced his footsteps with the most minute precautions, like a man who wishes to surprise and himself remain unseen. The gauchos were ahead of him, and disappeared behind a shifting sand ridge, at the moment he turned the corner in the road. Still he soon saw them again, climbing up a steep path, that led to a thick clump of trees. A few trees had grown in these dry sands by accident, or a caprice of Nature.
Sure now of finding them, Blas walked on more slowly, and in order to remove any suspicion about his object, he lit a cigarette. The gauchos, fortunately for him, did not look round once, but entered the wood after the man whom Blas had recognized as Don Torribio Carvajal. When Blas, in his turn, reached the skirt of the wood, instead of entering the wood immediately, he took a slight bend to his right, and then stooping down, began crawling on his hands and knees with the greatest caution, in order not to arouse the attention of the gauchos by any noise.
In a few minutes voices reached his ear. He then raised his head softly, and saw the three men standing together and talking eagerly in a clearing about ten paces from him. He rose, concealed himself behind a maple tree and began listening.
Don Torribio had let his cloak fall, and with his shoulder leant against a tree and with his legs crossed, he was listening with visible impatience to what Panchito was saying at this moment. Don Torribio was a man of eight-and-twenty, handsome, tall, and well-built, possessing elegance and nobility in his every movement, and the haughty attitude which is produced by a habit of commanding. Two large quick eyes lit up the oval of his face; two eyes charged, apparently, with lightning, and whose strange fascination it was almost impossible to endure. His flexible nostrils seem to expand through quick passions; a cold mockery was imbedded in the corners of his mouth, which was filled with splendid teeth and surmounted by a black moustache. His forehead was spacious, his skin bronzed by the heat of the sun, and his hair long and silky. Still, in spite of all this prodigality of Nature, his haughty and disdainful expression produced, in the end, a sort of repulsion.
Don Torribio's hands were small and encased in splendid-fitting gloves, and his high-ankled feet were covered by patent leather boots. As for his dress, which was extremely costly, it was in appearance much like that of the gauchos. His shirt collar was fastened with a diamond of enormous value, and his fine-tissued poncho was worth more than five hundred piastres.
Two years before this story, Don Torribio Carvajal arrived at Carmen a stranger to everybody, and all asked themselves, where does he come from? Whence does he get his princely fortune? Where are his estates? Don Torribio had purchased an estancia in the colony, situated some two or three leagues from Carmen, and under pretext of defending it against the Indians, had fortified it, surrounded it with moats and palisades, and mounted six guns. He had thus walled in his existence and routed curiosity. Though the gates of his estancia were never opened to any guest, he was welcomed by the first families at Carmen, whom he visited assiduously, and then to the great surprise of all, he disappeared for several months. The ladies had wasted their smiles and glances, the men their adroit questions to make Don Torribio speak. Don Antonio Valverde, to whom his post of being governor gave the right of being curious, had not failed to feel some alarm about the handsome stranger, but weary of losing his leisure in inquiries, he left the matter to time, which sooner or later rends asunder the densest veils.
Such was the man who was listening to Panchito in the brake, and all that was known about him.
"Enough!" he said passionately, interrupting the gaucho; "you are a dog, and the son of a dog."
"Señor!" said Panchito, drawing himself up.
"I am inclined to crush you, like the wretch you are."
"Threats to me!" the gaucho shouted, pale with rage, and drawing his knife.
Don Torribio clutched the fellow's wrist with his gloved hand, and twisted it so rudely, that he let the weapon fall with a cry of pain.
"On your knees, and ask pardon," the gentleman said, as he twisted Panchito to the ground.
"No; kill me sooner."
"Begone, villain; you are only a brute beast."
The gaucho rose tottering, his eyes were filled with blood, his lips were livid, and his whole body trembled. He picked up his knife, and approached Don Torribio, who waited for him with folded arms.
"Well, yes," he said; "I am a brute beast, but I love you, after all. Forgive me or kill me, but do not send me away."
"Begone!"
"Is that your last word?"
"Yes."
"To the demon, then."
And the gaucho, with a movement rapid as thought, raised his knife to stab himself.
"I forgive you," Don Torribio said, after checking Panchito's arm; "but if you wish to serve me, be dumb as a corpse."
The gaucho fell at his feet, and covered his hand with kisses, like a dog licking his master, who has chastised it. Corrocho had remained a motionless observer of the scene.
"What power does this strange man possess to be thus beloved?" muttered Blas Salazar, who was still concealed behind his tree.
CHAPTER III.
DON TORRIBIO CARVAJAL
After a short silence, Don Torribio continued —
"I know that you are devoted to me, and I have perfect confidence in you; but you are a drunkard, Panchito, and drink is a bad counsellor."
"I will drink no more," the gaucho answered.
Don Torribio smiled.
"Drink, but without destroying reason. In drunkenness people utter words, as you did just now, which cannot be recalled, and are more deadly than a dagger. It is not your master who is now speaking, but the friend. Can I count on both of you?"
"Yes," the gaucho said.
"I am going away; but you must not leave the colony, but be ready for anything. Before all, carefully watch the house of Don Valentine Cardoso, both inside and out. If anything extraordinary happens to him or his daughter Doña Concha, you will immediately light two fires, one on the cliff of the Urubús, the other on that of San Xavier, and within a few hours you will hear from me. Do you promise to execute promptly and devotedly any order of mine, however extraordinary it may appear to you?"
"We swear it."
"That is well. One word in conclusion. Connect yourselves with as many gauchos as you can; try, without exciting suspicion, which always sleeps with one eye open, to collect a band of determined fellows. By the by, distrust Patito: he is a traitor."
"Must he be killed?" Corrocho asked.
"Perhaps it would be prudent, but you would have to get rid of him cleverly."
The two gauchos exchanged a side glance, but Don Torribio pretended not to see it.
"Do you want money?"
"No, master."
"No matter; take this."
He threw to Corrocho a long silk purse, through the meshes of which a great number of gold ounces glittered.
"My horse, Panchito."
The gaucho entered the wood, and almost immediately re-appeared, holding the bridle of a magnificent charger, upon whose back Don Torribio leaped.
"Farewell," he said to them; "prudence and fidelity; any indiscretion would cost your life."
And, after giving the gauchos a friendly nod, he dug his spurs into the horse's sides, and went off in the direction of Carmen, while Corrocho and Panchito went back toward Población del Sur. As soon as they had gone some distance, the bushes in a corner of the brake were shaken, and a face pale with fear peeped out. This head belonged to Patito, who, with a pistol in one hand, and a knife in the other, drew himself up, and looked around with great agitation, while muttering in a low voice —
"¡Canario! kill me cleverly. We shall see, we shall see. ¡Santa Virgen del Pilar! What demons! Well, listening is a good thing."
"It is the only way to hear," someone replied a mocking voice.
"Who's there?" Patito shouted, as he leaped on one side.
"A friend!" Blas Salazar answered, as he came from behind the maple and joined the gaucho, whose hand he shook.
"Ah, ah, capataz, you are welcome. You were listening too, then?"
"I should think so. I took advantage of the opportunity to instruct myself about Don Torribio."
"Well?"
"This caballero appears to me a precious scoundrel, but, with the aid of Heaven, we will ruin his dark schemes."
"So be it!"
"And, in the first place, what do you intend to do?"
"On my word I do not know. There's a buzzing in my ears, 'kill me cleverly.' Corrocho and Panchito are certainly the most hideous villains of the Pampa."
"¡Caramba! I have known them a long time, and at present they alarm me but slightly."
"But me?"
"Nonsense; you are not dead yet."
"I am not much better."
"What, are you afraid? You, the boldest panther hunter of my acquaintance?"
"A panther is, after all, only a panther, and you can get the better of it with a bullet; but the two fellows Don Torribio has let loose on me are demons."
"That is true; so let us proceed to the most important point. Don Valentine Cardoso, whose capataz I am, is my foster brother, that is to say, I am devoted to him body and soul. Don Torribio is forming some infernal plot against my master's family, which I wish to foil. Are you decided to lend me a hand? Two men who have only one will between them can do a great deal."
"Frankness for frankness, Don Blas," Patito answered, after a moment's reflection. "This morning I should have refused, this evening I accept, because I no longer run a risk of betraying the gauchos, my comrades. The position is changed. Kill me cleverly! By Heaven I will avenge myself. I belong to you, capataz, as my knife blade does to its hilt – yours, body and soul, on the word of a gaucho."
"Excellent," said Don Blas, "we shall be able to understand each other. Get on your horse and go and wait for me at the estancia. I shall return there after sunset, and we will draw up the plan of the countermine."
"Agreed. Where are you going?"
"To Don Valentine Cardoso."
"This evening, then?"
"This evening."
They then separated. Patito, whose horse was hidden a short distance off, galloped toward the Estancia of San Julian, of which Don Blas was the capataz, while the latter proceeded in great haste toward the Población.
Don Valentine Cardoso was one of the richest landed proprietors in Carmen, where his family had been established since the foundation of the colony. He was a man of about five and forty. As his family originally came from old Castile, he had retained the handsome type of that race, a type which was recognized in his face by the vigorously marked lines, with which was combined a certain air of proud majesty, to which the rather sad eyes imparted an expression of gentleness and kindness.
Left a widower after two too short years of marriage, Don Valentine had kept the memory of his wife locked up in his heart like a sacred relic, and he believed that it was still loving her to devote himself entirely to the education of their daughter Concepción, called more familiarly Concha or Conchita.
Don Valentine lived in the Población of old Carmen, near the fort, in one of the handsomest and largest houses of the colony.
A few hours after the events we have recorded, two persons were seated near a brasero in a drawing room of this mansion.
In this drawing room, elegantly furnished in the French style, a stranger on opening the door might have believed himself transported to the Faubourg St. Germain; there was the same luxury in the paper hangings, the same taste in the choice and arrangement of the furniture. Nothing was wanting; not even an Erard pianoforte, covered with the scores of operas sung at Paris, and, as if better to prove that glory travels a great distance, that genius has wings, the fashionable romance writers and poets filled a buhl cheffonier. Here everything recalled France and Paris, excepting the silver brasero in which the smouldering olive stones indicated Spain. Chandeliers holding pink wax candles lit up this magnificent withdrawing room.
Don Valentine Cardoso and his daughter Conchita were seated near the brasero.
Doña Concha, who was scarcely fifteen years of age, was exquisitely beautiful. The raven arch of eyebrows, traced as with a pencil, heightened the grace of her rather low and pale forehead; her large blue and thoughtful eyes, fringed with long brown lashes, contrasted harmoniously with her ebony black hair which curled round her delicate neck, and in which odoriferous jessamine flowers were expiring in delight. Short, like all true-blooded Spanish women, her waist was exquisitely small. Never had smaller feet trodden in the dance the Castilian grass plots, and never had a more dainty hand nestled in that of a lover. Her movements, careless as those of all the creoles, were undulating and full of salero as the Spaniards say.
Her dress, which was charmingly simple, consisted of a dressing gown of white cashmere, embroidered with large silk flowers in bright colours, and fastened round the hips by a cord and tassels. A Mechlin lace veil was carelessly thrown over her shoulders, while her feet were thrust into pink slippers, lined with swan's-down.
Doña Conchita was smoking a tiny husk cigarette, while talking to her father.
"Yes, father," she said, "a ship has arrived to day from Buenos Aires, with the prettiest birds in the world."
"Well, little one?"
"I fancy that my dear little father," she remarked, with an adorable pout, "is not at all gallant this evening."
"What do you know about it, young lady?" Don Valentine replied with a smile.
"No, have you really," she said, bounding with delight in her chair, and clapping her hands, "thought of – "
"Buying you some birds? You will tomorrow see your aviary stocked with parrots, Bengalis, macaws, hummingbirds, in short, about four hundred specimens, you ungrateful little chit."
"Oh, how good you are, father, and how I love you," the girl replied, throwing her arms round Don Valentine's neck, and embracing him several times.
"Enough, enough, madcap. Do you want to stifle me with your caresses?"
"What can I do to requite your kindness?"
"Poor dear, I have only you to love now."
"Say adore, my darling father; for it is adoration you feel for me. Hence, I love you with all the strength God has placed in my heart."
"And yet," Don Valentine said, with a gentle accent of reproach, "you do not fear, naughty girl, to cause me anxiety."
"I?" Concha asked, with an internal tremor.
"Yes, you, you," he said, threatening her tenderly with his finger, "you hide something from me."
"Father!"
"Come, child, a father's eyes can read the heart of a girl of fifteen, and for some days past, if I am not mistaken, I have not been the sole object of your thoughts."
"That is true," the girl replied, with a certain amount of resolution.
"And whom are you dreaming of, little maid?" Don Valentine asked, hiding his anxiety behind a smile.
"Of Don Torribio Carvajal."
"Ah," the father cried, in a choking voice "and do you love him?"
"No," she answered; "listen, father, I will conceal nothing from you. No," she continued, laying her hand on her heart, "I do not love Don Torribio, still he occupies my thoughts; why, I cannot say, but his look troubles and fascinates me, his voice causes me a feeling of undefinable pain; he is handsome, his manners are elegant and noble, he has everything belonging to a gentleman of high caste, and yet something in him, something fatal, checks me, and inspires me with invincible repugnance."
"You romantic girl."
"Laugh at me, ridicule me," she said with a tremor in her voice. "Shall I confess all to you, father?"
"Speak with confidence."
"Well, I have a presentiment that this man will be dangerous to me."
"Child," Don Valentine replied, as he kissed her forehead, "what can he do to you?"
"I do not know; but I am afraid."
"Do you wish not to remain here any longer?"
"Heaven forbid! That would be hastening on the misfortune that threatens me."
"You are losing your head, and taking pleasure in creating chimeras."
At the same moment a man servant announced Don Torribio Carvajal, who entered the room.
The young man was dressed in the latest Parisian fashion, and the candles lit up his splendid face.
Father and daughter started.
Don Torribio walked up to Doña Concha, bowed to her gracefully, and offered her a superb bouquet of exotic flowers. She thanked him with a smile, took the bouquet, and almost without looking at it, laid it on a table.
In succession were announced the governor, Don Antonio Valverde, accompanied by his whole staff, and two or three other families, or altogether some fifteen persons. By degrees the conversation grew animated.
"Well, colonel," Don Valentine asked the governor, "What news from Buenos Aires?"
"Our great Rosas," the colonel answered, who was stifling in his uniform, "has again defeated Oribe's Unitarian savages."
"Heaven be praised! Perhaps that victory will procure us a little of that tranquillity which commerce requires."
"Yes," a colonist remarked, "the communications are becoming so difficult that nothing can be sent by land."
"Can the Indians be stirring?" a merchant asked anxiously, on hearing the observation.
"Oh!" the stout commandant interrupted, "There is no danger; the last lesson they received was rude, they will remember it a long time, and not dream of invading our frontiers for many a day to come."
An almost invisible smile played round Don Torribio's lips.
"In case of an invasion, do you consider them capable of seriously troubling the colony?"
"Hum!" Don Antonio answered, "Take them altogether they are poor scrubs."
The young man smiled again in a bitter and sinister manner.
"Excellency," he said, "I am of your opinion; I believe the Indians will do well in remaining at home."
"I should think so," the commandant exclaimed.
"Señorita," Don Torribio said, turning to Doña Concha, "would it be too great a favour to ask you to sing that delicious air from the Black Domino which you sang so exquisitely the other evening?"
The young lady, without farther pressing, sat down to the pianoforte, and sang the romance from the third act in a pure voice.
"I heard that sung in Paris by Madame Damoreau, a nightingale who has flown away, and I cannot say which of you displays more grace or simplicity."
"Don Torribio," Doña Concha answered, "you lived too long in France."
"Why so, señorita."
"Because you have come back a detestable flatterer."
"Bravo!" the governor said with a hearty laugh. "You see, Don Torribio, that our creoles are equal to the Parisian ladies in quickness of repartee."
"Incontestably, colonel," the young man replied; "but leave me alone," he added with an undefinable accent, "I shall soon take my revenge."
And he gave Doña Concha a look that made her shudder.
"I trust, Don Torribio," the governor said, "that you will be present tomorrow at the Te Deum chanted in honour of our glorious Rosas?"
"Impossible, colonel; this very evening I start on a compulsory journey."
"What, another of your mysterious excursions?"
"Yes, but this one will not be long, and I shall be back soon?"
"All the better."
"¿Quién sabe?" the young man murmured in a sinister voice.
Doña Concha, who had heard the last words, was not mistress of her terror.
The visitors took leave one after the other, and Don Torribio Carvajal was at length left alone with his hosts.
"Señorita," he said on taking leave, "I am setting out on a journey in which I shall doubtless incur great dangers. May I hope that you will deign to remember the traveller in your prayers."
Concha looked at him for a moment in the face, and replied with a frankness which was natural to her: —
"Señor Caballero, I cannot pray for the success of an expedition whose object I do not know."
"Thanks for your frankness, mademoiselle," Don Torribio answered without the slightest emotion, "I shall not forget your words."
And after the customary compliments he retired.
"The capataz of San Julian, Don Blas Salazar wishes to speak with Señor Don Valentine Cardoso on important business."
"Let him come in," Don Valentine said to the servant who had announced the capataz in so lengthy a fashion. "Conchita, come and sit by my side on this sofa."
Don Torribio was extremely agitated when he left the house; he turned round and darted a viper glance at the windows of the drawing room, across which Doña Concha's light shadow flitted.
"Proud girl," he said in a hollow and terrible voice, "I shall punish you for your disdain."
Then, wrapping himself in his cloak, he went at a rapid pace to a house situated a short distance off, where he generally lived when at Carmen. He knocked twice; the gate opened and closed after him.
Twenty minutes later the gate opened again to let two horsemen pass out.
"Master, where are we going?" one asked.
"To the tree of Gualichu," the other replied; and added in a whisper, "to seek vengeance."