CHAPTER XV.
THE HALT.
The sun had almost entirely disappeared on the horizon at the momentwhen the caravans reached the halting ground.
This spot, situated on the top of a rather scarped hill, had beenselected with that sagacity which distinguishes Texan or Mexicanarrieros; any surprise was impossible, and the aged trees that grew onthe crest of the hill would, in the event of an attack, offer a secureprotection against bullets.
The mules were unloaded, but, contrary to the usual custom, the bales,instead of being employed as a breastwork for the camp, were piled upand placed out of reach of the marauders whom chance or cupidity mightattract to this quarter when the darkness had set in.
Seven or eight large fires were lit in a circle, in order to keep offwild beasts; the mules received their ration of Indian corn on _mantas_or horsecloths laid on the ground; then, so soon as sentinels wereposted round the camp, the troopers and arrieros were busily engaged inpreparing the poor supper, which the day's fatigues rendered necessary.
Captain Don Juan and the monk, who had gone a little aside to a fire litexpressly for them, were beginning to smoke their husk cigarettes, whilethe officer's servant was hastily preparing his master's meal--a meal,we are bound to say, as simple as that of the other members of thecaravan, but which hunger had the privilege of rendering not onlyappetising, but almost succulent, although it was only composed of a few_varas_ of tocino, or meat dried in the sun, and four or five biscuits.
The Captain soon finished his supper. He then rose, and, as night hadcompletely fallen, went to visit the sentries, and see that all was inorder. When he resumed his place by the fire, Father Antonio, with hisfeet turned to the flame, and wrapped in a thick zarape, was sleeping,or pretending to sleep, soundly.
Don Juan examined him for a moment with an expression of hatred andcontempt, impossible to describe, shook his head twice or thricethoughtfully, and then told his assistants, who were standing a fewpaces off in expectation of his orders, to have the two prisonersbrought up.
These prisoners had hitherto been kept apart; though treated withrespect, it was, however, easy for them to see that they were guardedwith the greatest care; still, either through carelessness or some otherreason, they did not appear to notice the fact, for their weapons hadbeen left them, and, judging from their muscular force and energeticfeatures, though both had reached middle life, there was fair ground forsupposing when the moment arrived for them to insist on their liberty,they would be the men to try and regain it by force.
Without any remark they followed the Captain's servant, and soon foundthemselves before that officer.
Though the night was gloomy, the flames of the fire spread sufficientlight around to illumine the faces of the new comers.
On seeing them Don Juan gave a start of surprise, but one of theprisoners laid his finger on his lip to recommend prudence to him, andat the same time glanced significantly at the monk lying near them.
The Captain understood this dumb warning, to which he replied by a lightnod of the head, and then affected the utmost carelessness.
"Who are you?" he asked, as he idly rolled a cigarette between hisfingers.
"Hunters," one of the prisoners answered, without hesitation.
"You were found a few hours back halting on the bank of a stream."
"Quite correct."
"What were you doing there?"
The prisoner bent a scrutinizing glance around, and then looked againboldly at the speaker.
"Before giving any further answer to your questions," he said, "I shouldlike to ask you one in my turn."
"What is it?"
"Your right to cross-question me?"
"Look round you," the Captain lightly replied.
"Yes, I understand you, the right of force. Unluckily I do not recognizethat right. I am a free hunter, acknowledging no other law but my will,no other master but myself."
"Oh, oh! your language is bold, comrade."
"It is that of a man not accustomed to yield to any arbitrary power; totake me you have abused--I do not say your strength, for your soldierswould have killed me, before compelling me to follow them, had not suchbeen my intention--but the facility with which I confided in you: Itherefore protest against it, and demand my immediate freedom."
"Your haughty language has no effect on me, and were it my goodpleasure to force you to speak, I could compel you by certainirresistible arguments I possess."
"Yes," the prisoner said, bitterly, "the Mexicans remember the Spaniardstheir ancestors, and appeal to torture when necessary; well, try it,Captain--who prevents you? I trust that my gray hairs will not grow weakbefore your young moustache."
"Enough of this," the Captain said, angrily. "If I give you yourliberty, should I deliver a friend or a foe?"
"Neither."
"Hum! what do you mean?"
"My answer is clear enough, surely."
"Still, I do not understand it."
"I will explain in two words."
"Speak."
"Both of us being placed in diametrically opposite positions, chance hasthought proper to bring us together to-day: if we now part, we shalltake with us no feeling of hatred through our meeting, because neitheryou nor I have had cause to complain of each other, and probably weshall never see each other again."
"Still, it is plain that when my soldiers found you, you were expectingsomebody on this road."
"What makes you suppose that?"
"Hang it! you told me you were hunters; I do not see any game you couldhunt along this road."
The prisoner began laughing.
"Who knows?" he replied, with a stress on his words, "Perhaps it wasmore precious game than you may fancy, and of which you would like tohave your share."
The monk gave a slight start, and opened his eyes as awaking.
"What?" he said, addressing the Captain, and stifling a yawn. "You arenot asleep, Don Juan?"
"Not yet," the latter answered. "I am questioning the two men myvanguard arrested some hours ago."
"Ah!" the monk remarked with a disdainful glance at the strangers,"these poor devils do not appear to me very alarming."
"You think so?"
"I do not know what you can have to fear from these men."
"Perhaps they are spies?"
Fray Antonio assumed a paternal air.
"Spies?" he said; "Do you fear an ambuscade?"
"Under the circumstances in which we now are, that supposition is not soimprobable, I fancy."
"Nonsense! in a country like this, and with the escort you have at yourservice, that would be extraordinary; moreover, these two men letthemselves be captured without resistance, as I heard, when they mighteasily have escaped."
"That is true."
"It is evident, then, that they had no bad intentions. If I were you, Iwould quietly let them go where they pleased."
"Is that your advice?"
"Indeed it is."
"You seem to take a great interest in these two strangers."
"I? Not the least in the world. I only tell you what is right, that'sall: now you can act as you please. I wash my hands of it."
"You may be right, still I will not set these persons at liberty tillthey have told me the name of the person they were expecting."
"Were they expecting anybody?"
"They say so, at any rate."
"It is true, Captain," said the person who had hitherto spoken; "butthough we knew you were coming, it was not you we were waiting for."
"Who was it, then?"
"Do you insist on knowing?"
"Certainly."
"Then answer, Fray Antonio," the prisoner said with a grin; "for youalone can reveal the name the Captain asks of us."
"I?" the monk said with a start of passion, and turning pale as acorpse.
"Ah, ah!" the Captain said, as he turned to him, "this is beginning togrow interesting."
It was a singular scene presented by the four men standing round t
hefire, whose flame fantastically lit up their faces.
The Captain carelessly smoked his cigarette, while looking sarcasticallyat the monk, on whose face impudence and fear were fighting a battle,every incident in which was easy to read; the two hunters, with theirhands crossed over the muzzles of their long rifles, smiled cunningly,and seemed to be quietly enjoying the embarrassment of the man whom theyhad placed in this terrible dilemma.
"Don't pretend to look so surprised, Padre Antonio," the prisoner thenat length said; "you know very well we were expecting you."
"Me?" the monk said in a choking voice; "the scoundrel is mad, on mysoul."
"I am not mad, Padre, and I will trouble you not to employ such languagetoward me," the prisoner replied drily.
"Come, give in," the other, who had hitherto been silent, criedcoarsely; "I do not care to dance at the end of a rope for your goodpleasure."
"Which will inevitably happen," the Captain remarked quietly, "if you donot decide, Caballeros, on giving me a clear and explicit explanation ofyour conduct."
"There you see, Senor Frayle," the prisoner continued, "our position isgrowing delicate; come, behave like a man."
"Oh!" the monk exclaimed furiously, "I have fallen into a horribletrap."
"Enough," the Captain said in a thundering voice; "this farce has lastedonly too long, Padre Antonio. It is not you who have fallen into a trap,but you tried to draw me into one. I have known you for a long time, andpossess the most circumstantial details about the plans you weredevising. It is a dangerous game you have been playing for a long time;a man cannot serve GOD and the devil simultaneously, without all beingdiscovered at last; still, I wished to confront you with these worthymen, in order to confound you, and make the mask fall from yourhypocritical face."
At this rude apostrophe the Monk was for a moment stunned, crushed as hewas beneath the weight of the charges brought against him; at length heraised his head and turned to the Captain.
"Of what am I accused?" he asked haughtily.
Don Juan smiled contemptuously.
"You are accused," he replied, "of having wished to lead the conducta Icommand into an ambush formed by you, and where at this moment yourworthy acolytes are waiting to massacre and rob us. What will you replyto that?"
"Nothing," he answered, drily.
"You are right, for your denials would not be accepted. Still, now thatyou are convicted by your own confession, you will not escape without aneternal recollection of our meeting."
"Take care of what you are about to do, Senor Captain: I belong to thechurch, and this gown renders me inviolable."
A mocking smile contracted the Captain's lips.
"No matter for that," he replied, "it shall be stripped off you."
Most of the troopers and arrieros, aroused by the loud voices of themonk and the officer, had gradually drawn nearer, and attentivelyfollowed the conversation.
The Captain pointed to the monk, and addressed the soldiers.
"Strip off the gown that covers that man," he said; "fasten him to acatalpa, and give him two hundred lashes with a _chicote_."
"Villains!" the monk exclaimed, nearly out of his mind; "Any man of youwho dares to lay hands on me I curse; he will be eternally condemned forhaving insulted a minister of the altar."
The soldiers stopped in terror before this anathema, which theirignorance and stupid superstition robbed them of the courage to brave.
The monk folded his arms, and addressed the officer triumphantly--
"Wretched madman," he said, "I could punish you for your audacity, but Ipardon you. Heaven will undertake to avenge me, and you will be punishedwhen your last hour arrives. Farewell! Make room for me to pass,fellows!"
The dragoons, confused and timid, fell back slowly and hesitatinglybefore him; the Captain, forced to confess his impotence, clenched hisfists, as he looked passionately around him.
The monk had all but passed through the ranks of the soldiers, when hesuddenly felt his arm clutched; he turned with the evident intention ofseverely reprimanding the man who was so audacious as to touch him, butthe expression of his face suddenly changed on seeing who it was thatstopped him, and looked at him craftily, for it was no other than thestrange prisoner, the first cause of the insult offered him.
"One moment, Senor Padre," the hunter said. "I can understand that theseworthy fellows, who are Catholics, should fear your curse, and dare notlay a hand on you through their dread of eternal flames, but with me itis different. I am a heretic, as you know, hence I run no risk in takingoff your gown, and, with your permission, I will do you that slightservice."
"Oh!" the monk replied, as he ground his teeth; "I will kill you, John,I will kill you, villain!"
"Nonsense, threatened people live a long while," John replied, as heforced him to take off his monk's gown.
"There," he continued, "now, my fine fellows, you can carry out yourCaptain's orders in perfect safety; this man is no more to you than thefirst comer."
The hunter's bold action suddenly broke the spell that enchained thesoldiers. So soon as the much-feared gown no longer covered the monk'sshoulders, listening to neither prayers nor threats, they seized theculprit, fastened him, in spite of his cries, securely to a catalpa, andconscientiously administered the two hundred lashes decreed by theCaptain, while the hunters played their part by counting the blows andlaughing loudly at the contortions of the wretched man, whom pain causedto writhe like a serpent.
At the one hundred and twenty-eighth lash the monk became silent: hisnervous system being completely overthrown, rendered him insensible;still, he did not faint, his teeth were clenched, a white foam escapedfrom his crisped lips, he looked fixedly before him without seeinganything, and giving no other signs of existence than the heavy sighswhich at intervals upheld his muscular chest.
When the punishment was ended, and he was unfastened, he fell to theground like a log, and lay there motionless.
His robe was handed back to him, and he was left to lie there, no onetroubling himself further about him.
The two hunters then went off, after talking to the Captain for someminutes in a low voice.
The rest of the night passed away without incident.
A few minutes before sunrise, the soldiers and arrieros prepared to loadthe mules, and prepare everything for the start.
"Stay," the Captain suddenly exclaimed, "where is the monk? We cannotabandon him thus; lay him on a mule, and we will leave him at the firstrancho we come to."
The soldiers hastened to obey, and look for Padre Antonio, but all theirsearch was in vain; he had disappeared, and left no trace of his flight.
Don Juan frowned at the news, but, after a moment's reflection, he shookhis head carelessly.
"All the better," he said, "he would have been in our way."
The conducta herewith started again.