CHAPTER NINE.
LEFT BEHIND.
On the third day after the fandango, it is announced that the caravanwill move onward to Chihuahua. The day arrives, and I am unable totravel with it. My surgeon, a wretched leech of a Mexican, assures methat it will be certain death to attempt the journey. For want of anyopposing evidence, I am constrained to believe him. I have noalternative but to adopt the joyless resolve to remain in Santa Fe untilthe return of the traders.
Chafing on a feverish bed, I take leave of my late companions. We partwith many regrets; but, above all, I am pained at bidding adieu to SaintVrain, whose light-hearted companionship has been my solace throughthree days of suffering. He has proved my friend; and has undertaken totake charge of my waggons, and dispose of my goods in the market ofChihuahua.
"Do not fret, man," says he, taking leave. "Kill time with thechampagne of El Paso. We will be back in a squirrel's jump; and, trustme, I will bring you a mule-load of Mexican shiners. God bless you!Good-bye!"
I can sit up in my bed and, from the open window, see the white tilts ofthe waggons, as the train rolls over a neighbouring hill. I hear thecracking whips and the deep-toned "wo-ha" of the teamsters; I see thetraders mount and gallop after; and I turn upon my couch with a feelingof loneliness and desertion.
For days I lay tossing and fretting, despite the consolatory influenceof the champagne, and the rude but kindly attentions of my voyageurvalet.
I rise at length, dress myself, and sit in my ventana. I have a goodview of the plaza and the adjacent streets, with their rows of brownadobe houses, and dusty ways between.
I gaze, hour after hour, on what is passing without. The scene is notwithout novelty as well as variety. Swarthy, ill-favoured faces appearbehind the folds of dingy rebozos. Fierce glances lower under theslouch of broad sombreros. Poplanas with short skirts and slipperedfeet pass my window; and groups of "tame" Indians, pueblos, crowd infrom the neighbouring rancherias, belabouring their donkeys as they go.These bring baskets of fruit and vegetables. They squat down upon thedusty plaza, behind piles of prickly pears, or pyramids of tomatoes andchile. The women, light-hearted hucksters, laugh and sing and chattercontinuously. The tortillera, kneeling by her metate, bruises theboiled maize, claps it into thin flakes, flings it on the heated stone,and then cries, "Tortillas! tortillas calientes!" The cocinera stirsthe peppery stew of chile Colorado, lifts the red liquid in her woodenladle, and invites her customers by the expressions: "Chile bueno!excellente!" "Carbon! carbon!" cries the charcoal-burner. "Agua! agualimpia!" shouts the aguadord. "Pan fino, pan bianco!" screams thebaker; and other cries from the vendors of atole, huevos, and leche, areuttered in shrill, discordant voices. Such are the voices of a Mexicanplaza.
They are at first interesting. They become monotonous, thendisagreeable; until at length I am tortured, and listen to them with afeverish excitement.
After a few days I am able to walk, and go out with my faithful Gode.We stroll through the town. It reminds me of an extensive brick-fieldbefore the kilns have been set on fire.
We encounter the same brown adobes everywhere; the samevillainous-looking leperos lounging at the corners; the samebare-legged, slippered wenches; the same strings of belaboured donkeys;the same shrill and detestable cries.
We pass by a ruinous-looking house in a remote quarter. Our ears aresaluted by voices from within. We hear shouts of "Mueran los Yankies!Abajo los Americanos!" No doubt the pelado to whom I was indebted formy wound is among the ruffians who crowd into the windows; but I knowthe lawlessness of the place too well to apply for justice.
We hear the same shouts in another street; again in the plaza; and Godeand I re-enter the Fonda with a conviction that our appearance in publicmight be attended with danger. We resolve, therefore, to keep withindoors.
In all my life I never suffered ennui as when cooped up in thissemi-barbarous town, and almost confined within the walls of its filthyFonda. I felt it the more that I had so lately enjoyed the company ofsuch free, jovial spirits, and I could fancy them in their bivouacs onthe banks of the Del Norte, carousing, laughing, or listening to somewild mountain story.
Gode shared my feelings, and became as desponding as myself. The lighthumour of the voyageur disappeared. The song of the Canadian boatmanwas heard no longer; but, in its place, the "sacre" and Englishexclamations were spluttered plentifully, and hurled at everythingMexican. I resolved at length to put an end to our sufferings.
"This life will never do, Gode," said I, addressing my compagnon.
"Ah! monsieur, nevare! nevare it vill do. Ah! ver doll. It is like vonassemblee of le Quaker."
"I am determined to endure it no longer."
"But what can monsieur do? How, capitaine?"
"By leaving this accursed place, and that to-morrow."
"But is monsieur fort? strongs beau-coup? strongs to ride?"
"I will risk it, Gode. If I break down, there are other towns on theriver where we can halt. Anywhere better than here."
"C'est vrai, capitaine. Beautiful village down the river. Albuquerque;Tome: ver many village. Mon Dieu! all better, Santa Fe is one camp oftief. Ver good for us go, monsieur; ver good."
"Good or not, Gode, I am going. So make your preparations to-night, forI will leave in the morning before sunrise."
"It will be von grand plaisir to makes ready." And the Canadian ranfrom the room, snapping his fingers with delight.
I had made up my mind to leave Santa Fe at any rate. Should mystrength, yet but half restored, hold out, I would follow, and ifpossible overtake the caravan. I knew it could make but short journeysover the deep sand roads of the Del Norte. Should I not succeed incoming up with it, I could halt in Albuquerque or El Paso, either ofwhich would offer me a residence at least as agreeable as the one I wasleaving.
My surgeon endeavoured to dissuade me from setting out. He representedthat I was in a most critical condition, my wound far from beingcicatrised. He set forth in most eloquent terms the dangers of fever,of gangrene, of haemorrhage. He saw I was obstinate, and concluded hismonitions by presenting his bill. It amounted to the modest sum of onehundred dollars! It was an extortion. What could I do? I stormed andprotested. The Mexican threatened me with "Governor's" justice. Godeswore in French, Spanish, English, and Indian. It was all to nopurpose. I saw that the bill would have to be paid, and I paid it,though with indifferent grace.
The leech disappeared, and the landlord came next. He, like the former,made earnest entreaty to prevent me from setting forth. He offered avariety of reasons to detain me.
"Do not go; for your life, senor, do not!"
"And why, good Jose?" I inquired.
"Oh, senor, los Indios bravos! los Navajoes! carambo!"
"But I am not going into the Indian country. I travel down the river,through the towns of New Mexico."
"Ah! senor! the towns! no hay seguridad. No, no; there is safetynowhere from the Navajo. Hay novedades: news this very day. Polvidera;pobre polvidera! It was attacked on Sunday last. On Sunday, senor,when they were all en la misa. Pues, senor, the robbers surrounded thechurch; and oh, carambo! they dragged out the poor people--men, womenand children! Pues, senor; they kill the men: and the women: Dios de mialma!"
"Well, and the women?"
"Oh, senor! they are all gone; they were carried to the mountains by thesavages. Pobres mugeres!"
"It is a sad story, truly; but the Indians, I understand, only makethese forays at long intervals. I am not likely to meet with them now.At all events, Jose, I have made up my mind to run the risk."
"But, senor," continued Jose, lowering his voice to a confidential tone,"there are other ladrones besides the Indians: white ones, muchos,muchissimos! Ay, indeed, mi amo, white robbers; blancos, blancos y muyfeos, carrai!"
And Jose closed his fingers as if clutching some imaginary object.
This appeal to my fears was in vain. I answered it by pointing to myrevolvers and rifl
e, and to the well-filled belt of my henchman Gode.
When the Mexican Boniface saw that I was determined to rob him of allthe guests he had in his house, he retired sullenly, and shortly afterreturned with his bill. Like that of the medico, it was out of allproportion; but I could not help myself, and paid it.
By grey dawn I was in my saddle; and, followed by Gode and a couple ofheavily packed mules, I rode out of the ill-favoured town, and took theroad for the Rio Abajo.