CHAPTER XXII.
THE PACT OF BLOOD.
Behind the fugitives, the rattle of dropping shots had gone on for anhour so that Oregon Oliver's prophecy of the possible duration of suchskirmishing bid fair to be verified.
The Indians mode of warfare is to force a retrograde movement by thegradual concentration of fire, and at the moment a retreat is begun,whatever the cause--strategetic or from pure weakness or cowardice--acharge is made by the best warriors in a body, whooping and brandishingtheir weapons.
Knowing something of how resistless was such a rush, our oldacquaintance Don Anibal, _alias_ The Slayer of Seven, was in nohumour for awaiting one. Already, from the glimpse he had of theyoung Mexican girl borne away among the stampeded horses, his desirefor retaliation on don Benito had inspired him with a novel idea; hehoped, against all precedent, to unite the Apaches with him in the samepurpose.
It was, indeed, our old acquaintance, the reader will see, perfectlyunscrupulous by what means he obtained his ends.
The miracle to which he owed the preservation of his rascally life hadbeen a lesson only for the time being.
When, plunging off the islet into the Gulf in order to elude theinfuriated husband of dona Dolores, the pirate was swimming for anoffing, he became the aim of more than one shark. Twice he escapedbeing swallowed more or less in the maw of the most swift, for eachtime he had swerved on one side as it blindly turned back downward forthe terrible bite. But, when so near the shore as to hope for fullimmunity from this living danger at least, one of the tintoreras,fearless of the shoaling water, flew forward like a flash of lightning,and, amid an eddy of the churning water, poor Matasiete was seizedby the leg, and suffered the anguish of its being torn from half thethigh. His scream was stifled as he was dragged down, and when hearose, he was cast upon the strand. With the strength of infernal painand the madness of despair he not only dragged himself up under coverof the mangroves, but twisted his cravat as a tourniquet around thesevered limb. Then he fainted away.
It was not until the morning that the pearl fishers were attracted tohim by his piteous groans. They had been so generously paid by Mr.Gladsden after his securing the treasure that they took great care ofthe dismembered Mexican, believing him one of the brigantine crew,in which belief he took heed not to disturb them in his rare lucidmoments. They rewarded themselves by stripping him and cutting off hissilver buttons, and after a few weeks, changing their fishing ground,left him in their best hut. Fever had gone, but he was as weak as achild, and for some months seemed able only to crawl about. Thus he hadample time for repentance even of so long a career of guilt.
He was penitent in his helplessness, and had such a man as FatherSerafino encountered him then, he might never have recurred tohis former life. But no one came near the crippled hermit but seaotter hunters, and pearl and whale fishers, and they were rough,unsympathetic souls, who only landed to buy, or take by force, thevegetables which he raised.
In this way, chained to the spot by his loss of limb, with theperpetual presence of the reef where that treasure had been drawn up,to embitter his thoughts and his dreams, Matasiete nursed projectsof vengeance, not merely against the Englishman and don Benito, butagainst all human kind.
At last, nearly four years in this almost solitary existence havingpassed, and his little hoard of earnings by the supply of green meat tothe whalers swelling out so that he feared he would be robbed, he tookadvantage of the offer of an officer of a British man-of-war, surveyingthe Gulf, to transport him to Guaymas.
People and things had changed there; the prospect of the railwaysconnecting the port with the United States and Mexico City hadgalvanised it into a life he had never known before. Most of hisassociates had disappeared; but he found Don Stefano Garcia humbly"clerking it" in a merchant's, and very reticent about a fortnightin the chain gang, which punishment he had undergone for some littleplayfulness in his banking business.
Wary, tenacious, exacting, the returned salteador fastened himselfupon the clerk and blackmailed him almost daily, spending the extortedmoney in the sailors' drinking dens. At last, seeing that his Old Manof the Sea was doomed to be his destruction, Garcia made an effort,gave the robber a large sum of money once for all, and started him forthe northern interior. The former rover of the Sierras had expressed adesire to resume the old life of freedom, tempered with depredation anddebauchery.
Soon, indeed, to the nucleus of a few chosen scoundrels with whomhe had beguiled the intervals between revels and card play in theGuaymas groggeries, with stories of the merry life on the prairies, thecaptain added the floating scum of Upper Sonora. But this time he didnot hesitate to venture into New Mexico and run off cattle from theAmerican settlers. Thus he acquired a wider fame than before, and onboth sides of the border the One-legged Rustler had a price set on hishead.
About a year before, he had an accession to his band in the personof no less than the ex-banker, don Stefano Garcia. That estimablegentleman, from forgery to forgery, had contrived to bring thecredulous foreign firm that employed him to bankruptcy, and, wellsupplied with funds, thus shamefully acquired, was encountered by hisold associate gambling it away in the Green Ranch. They were scandalousrogues, born to travel in harness, and Garcia at once stepped into thelieutenancy of the formidable band. Too corpulent to be agile, exceptin the dance, in which he excelled like most Mexicans, he preferred towin by astuteness, and was no more daring when his neck was concernedthan El Manco himself.
It was he who earnestly approved his superior's idea of stopping thedesultory fighting and becoming friends with the Apaches. For one knewas well as the other that they were wolves whose hide would cost dear,and then be worthless.
The Apaches, as we have elsewhere remarked, are about the mostferocious and barbarous nation in the great Southwest. Neither Siouxnor Pawnees attain their perfection in cruelty, and they are matchlessas the Comanches in horse stealing.
They are tyrants of the wilderness, in short, who see no life worthliving without murder, pillage, torture, and conflagrations. They makeno nice distinctions in attacking any beings, white, red, or mixedblood, merely out of an implacable hatred for those born beyond theirpale. It is said that when other supply of foemen fall short, they willquarrel among themselves and cross knives in the council lodge itselffor the sheer relish of bloodshedding.
Such were the demons to whom the Mexican Ishmael wanted to propose atemporary alliance to attack and carry by storm the hacienda of donBenito de Bustamente.
All at once, therefore, Captain Pedrillo bid one of his men sound abugle in imitation of the notes of the cry used by the Apaches for"cease firing!" and, immediately, one of his lieutenants, riskinghis life, sprang from behind a tree towards the red man, waving ablanket in a peculiar manner which kept it flat but undulating in theair, whilst he shouted "_Paz_--peace!" As a rule, such overtures aredisregarded by Indians in combat, but the incertitude about theirbeloved chief made them accept it. Their missiles were no longer heardwhistling, and, in a few minutes spent in consultation, one of thesubchiefs leaped into the clear ground, and waved a white buffalo robe.
With bravado, in order to indicate that fear had nothing to do withthis offering and assent to the truce, both parties showed themselves.
On the one side, more than a hundred red men appeared, bristling withspears and arrows held on the bow, or displaying guns and hatchets.On the other, upon an earthwork hastily thrown up with knives, theruffians presented themselves, to the number of sixty at leastenveloped in their zarapes, coiled up to protect vital parts of thebody, their heads shaded with _sombreros_, or capped with skins ofanimals, still showing their teeth and claws; their guns and theirmachetes gleamed brightly. Both seemed tough morsels, and thoughthe Indians uttered no comments on the parade, their glances amongthemselves expressed the same sentiment of admiration which theMexicans muttered.
The _alferez_ and the Apache chief slowly advanced, step for step, soas to meet midway between the lines; as they came on nearer and nearer,they
threw down weapon after weapon so as, at last, when they stoodwithin arm's length, to be totally disarmed, in all appearance. Nodoubt both had a concealed knife, for treachery is always suspected inprairie warfare.
When they actually met, and the Mexican spokesman had repeated hismission to propose peace, on the grounds that there was no quarrelbetween the noble Apaches and the bandits, who were in no way connectedwith those infernal North American heretics who had intruded within theRancho Verde, the Indian made a sign to his friends. Instantly, in amajestic manner, several chiefs came forward towards him, a movementimitated by Pedrillo and his subleaders, and soon the two groups werefacing one another.
Profoundly distrustful, though no weapons were visible, both partiesfully aware of the rascality of either, the Apaches neverthelessrecognised that the pair of fugitives who had slain their chiefafter beating the Rustlers in the barroom, and were speeding awayon re-stolen horses, were no friends of the Mexicans. The proposal,therefore, that the two forces should unite in their mutual hate forthe strangers, by whose deeds both suffered, was congenial. Alwaysrepulsed when they attacked the fortified houses of the rich farmers,the Indians hoped for better results if they were aided by menaccustomed to fight on foot and to manage a siege.
Consequently, not ten minutes of explanation had passed before the halfdozen principals were seated in a circle in the centre of the clearingbefore the smoking ruins of Tio Camote's luckless hostelry, with thecalumet circulating for a council.
One little detail had been promptly debated and settled; apart from thebloodshed due to Mr. Gladsden and his hunter guide, five of the Apacheshad been slain by Mexican bullets, while only three of the bandits hadlost their lives in the skirmish. Now, inasmuch as the code "a lifefor a life," rules the savage practice, the Rustlers owed two lives tothe Apaches, who could not, with a debt of blood unpaid, enter intoalliance with the debtors.
With a sharklike grin, the worthy Captain Pedrillo removed thisdifficulty.
"There are four of my men, Chief Iron Shirt," said he, leaning towardsthe successor of Tiger Cat, "rank weeds, unruly, who have secretedunfair shares of plunder, and who contemplate desertion to go to Ures,and, perhaps, betray me and their valiant comrades to the police. Iwill arrange, on our march, to send them away as a detached scoutingparty, and your young men may take and wear their scalps at theirgirdles. Four scalps for two lives! Applaud my generosity!"
"It is a bargain," said the Apaches, grimly enjoying the joke.
Iron Shirt was a notorious villain, having twice at least mingled withthe Cheyennes and passed himself off for one of them in order to obtainfrom the United States agent arms and ammunition which he meant, evenas he received them with protestations of lip service, to essay uponthe very official who gave them. Hence he was the man particularly toappreciate double-dealing and applaud it when he was not the dupe. Hederived his singular but veritable appellation--for he is like othercharacters in our narrative, a figure in border annals--not from hisever wearing a shirt of mail, but from his good fortune in escapingbody wounds. He attributed it to his "medicine," but the white huntersthought him very dexterous in the use of the small shield which Indiancavalry carry, and which, while not defying a rifle ball, will fend offan arrow and stop a revolver bullet.
The pipe of council went twice around the ring, till Pedrillo spokeagain from his elevated perch on the horse, the others squatting in theIndian fashion.
"My Apache brothers are great warriors," he said, "so I am wishful toprove my esteem for them by having them join me, or taking me and myband in conjunction with them," changing the form of offer on seeingthe Indian wince in wounded pride, "to make complete the successful_coup_ which they have already struck at the hacienda of the TreasureHill. This time, my red brothers will return to their villages, notmerely with a few horses and one paleface girl, but with a long trainof mules packed with booty and fifty women to sew their clothes, fetchwater and cook their meals. The scalps are of no value to us, and theywill be the Apaches' prize! As for the plunder of the rich farm, wedivide it fairly between us. What does the chief say?"
Each of the Apaches answered in order of rank "it is good! The chiefsays we will fall on the hacienda in concert, and the plunder will beequally shared among the warriors."
The settlement of details was made whilst this favourable decisionupon the preliminaries was carried to the subordinates, interestedlyawaiting. General satisfaction was manifested, but the wary bandits andred men took care not to mingle or fraternize, save with arms at hand,even where several recognised acquaintances and hailed them cordially.
There was no doubt, as happens with more important treaty makers inEurope, each contracting party reserved in secret the right to keepnone of the pledges given and to seize the spoil the moment he feltstrong enough to defy the consequences of such treachery.
Meanwhile, Pedrillo called for a keg of spirits saved from the wreck ofthe ranch, and all drank to cement the negotiation.
Tio Camote had emerged from his retreat, and his two bartenders, morefrightened than hurt when the roof collapsed with them, saw the unburntstores of his tavern shared between the allies, as a commencementof their active brotherhood, without too much resentment. Forced toenlist actively among the banditti lest the rear guard of the Apachesimmolated him on the smouldering ruins, where their greatest chief wasinextricably buried to appease his manes, Uncle Sweet Potato stillwondered that he lived and breathed with his head thatched as natureprovided. As for his assistants, they were highwaymen when out of asituation, and they entered the ranks again under Pedrillo's colourswithout demur.
Just before sunset, the troops, united in sentiment though divided, asindependently pursuing their respective purposes in a parallel coursesolely by accident, took up the ride towards Monte Tesoro. As they hadno doubt that the fugitives would be lodged, for Dona Perla's sake, inher father's house, they had no reason to try to overtake them.
The first interruption to the rapid progress of the two troops, and atthe same time the first intimation they had of the revolt of the peons,was their riding into the midst of the column shattered by the shamlancers of Oregon Oliver. The severed portions of this column, like oneof those fabulous serpents which had the power of healing its wounds,and joining its segments, had rallied into one mass. The leaders werehesitating on the course to take when the Mexicans appeared, and theyfeared a renewal of the disaster. Fortunately, before the panic wasrevived, the Apaches delighted them, for they saw friends in men oftheir colour if not of their race. An understanding was soon arrivedat. Needless to say, Pedrillo and Garcia congratulated themselves onhaving such allies, and the prospect of overcoming not merely the farmof don Benito, but of many another, made their faces radiant withsmiles.
Thus reinforced, the squadrons resumed the advance, followed closely bythe peons, who derived much enheartenment from such warlike adherents,and, passing the detachment from Monte Tesoro still ensconced in thepine and cedar woods, the throng poured into the valley with loudclamour echoed by the assembled rebels. This joyous uproar did nottend to reassure the beleaguered Mexicans, though its cause was notperceptible.