CHAPTER XXVII.
THE TRUE CABALLERO.
Four days after the defeat of the insurgents, in his own bedroom ofthe Hacienda of the Monte Tesoro, don Benito Vazquez de Bustamente layextended on the couch, pale and weak. His dulled eyes were half shut,and only at long intervals did they let gleams of consciousness escape.Near him were kneeling his daughter and his wife; their daughter-in-lawbeing too ill from her loss and the emotion of the conflict in whichall dear to her were involved, to participate in this additional sceneof sorrow.
Sad and silent, don Jorge, Oliver, and the English gentleman, thelatter's arm in a sling, and both the paler from profuse bloodletting,stood by the bedside. At an altar reared in the room, Father Serafinowas just finishing prayers, to which the servants of the estate,kneeling in the corridors, had fervently responded.
At length the prostrate don seemed to revive, for his cheeks weretinged with fugitive purple, and his opening eyes were clear.
"Weeping? Why do you weep?" he asked of his wife, who was sobbing,her head muffled in her black lace _rebozo_, "If my life has not beenlong, it comprises more years of unalloyed bliss than most men enjoy.This day, the Giver of all those boons calleth me unto Him. His will bedone! Have I not been permitted to struggle against the poison which,twice menacing my life, only this time overcomes me, so slowly that myaffairs are in order, I can thank those who contributed to the victorywhich has saved Sonora from a deluge of blood and fire, and I can bidyou all farewell until we shall meet anew, never to part again, inthe ever-during felicity above. Yea, truly," went on don Benito, withincreased fervour, "heaven has been kinder and more merciful than Imerited, since not only has it preserved all those who lie closest onmy bosom, but my final farewells can be made them with a clear voice,and my latest hour is cheered with the presence of the friend socherished of my early years. He came in time to save my darling--and,with his valorous companion, to save us all. Embrace me, my friend,"he continued, to Gladsden, as he extended his arms with an effort, "tothee I owe all those long, long happy days which have been mine on thisoft dolorous earth."
Gladsden ran his sound arm round him, and held him up against his bosomfor a moment. Both of them had tears in their eyes. Then he lowered himgently back upon the pillow. For upwards of an hour still he spoke withthem, encouraging, consoling, and preparing them as much as possiblefor the painful separation. Suddenly he sat up, with his eyes loftilydirected, and in a clear voice they heard him call out--
"Lord God of my fathers, as I have borne myself like them, as aChristian gentleman of the pure strain, receive my soul!" and fell,like a log, dead.
All were kneeling now, and many a sob broke forth, with echoes, alongthe corridor, out to the very patio where the faithful peons mourned.
Two days afterwards, the American hunter, repulsing any reward but awatch from dona Perla, a silver mounted revolver from her brother, andan Indian scarf, enriched with pearls, inwrought by dona Dolores, thedonor, for display on holidays, or "for a sweetheart" (at which hesmiled), started, jauntily as ever, on the best horse on the farm ofTreasure Hill to return to the American army posts.
"Not a mossle of fear," he replied to Gladsden at his stirrups to thelast moment, "did you not hear that Apache, whom don Benito slashed,call me 'Comes-Whooping-with-Fire'--a good enough Injin name to keepthis big chief clear of bruises till the next fall buffalo surround.You'll hev' a letter from me in the Frisco post office by the time yougit round to Californy."