The Tiger-Slayer: A Tale of the Indian Desert. Aimard Gustave
I am quite in despair at having produced this discussion! I love Doña Anita. Love, as you know, easily takes umbrage. Although my betrothed has ever been amiable, kind, and gracious to me, still I confess that I fancy she does not love me."
"You are mad, Don Gaëtano. Young girls know not what they like or dislike. Do not trouble yourself about such a childish thing. I promised that she shall be your wife, and it shall be so."
"Still, if she loved another, I should not like – "
"What! Really what you say has not common sense. Anita loves no one but you, I am sure; and stay, would you like to be reassured? You say that you start for Guetzalli this evening?"
"Yes."
"Very good. Prepare apartments for my daughter and myself. In a few days we will join you at your hacienda."
"Is it possible?" the count said joyfully.
"Tomorrow at daybreak we will start; so make haste."
"A thousand thanks."
"Come, you are now easier?"
"I am the happiest of mortals."
"All the better."
The two men exchanged a few words further, and separated with renewed promises of meeting again soon.
Don Sylva, accustomed to command despotically in his establishment, and to allow no one to discuss his will, told his daughter, through her waiting maid, that she must prepare for a rather long journey the next morning, and felt certain of her obedience.
The news was a thunderbolt for the young lady. She sank half fainting into an easy chair, and melted into tears. It was evident to her that this journey was only a pretext to separate her from the man she loved, and place, her a defenceless victim, in the power of the man she abhorred, and who was to be her husband. The poor child remained thus for several hours, a prey to violent despair, and not dreaming of seeking impossible repose; for, in the state in which she found herself, she knew that sleep would not close her eyes, all swollen with tears, and red with fever.
Gradually the sounds of the town died away one after the other. All slept, or seemed to sleep. Don Sylva's house was plunged into complete darkness; a weak light alone glistened like a star through the young girl's windows, proving that there at least someone was watching.
At this moment two hesitating shadows were cast on the wall opposite the hacendero's house. Two men, wrapped in long cloaks, stopped and examined the dimly lighted window with that attention only found in thieves and lovers. The two men to whom we allude incontestably belonged to the latter category.
"Hum!" the first said in a sharp but suppressed voice, "You are certain of what you assert, Cucharés?"
"As of my eternal salvation, Señor Don Martial," the scamp replied in the same tone. "The accursed Englishman entered the house while I was there. Don Sylva appeared on the best terms with the heretic. May his soul be confounded!"
We may here remark that a few years ago, and possibly even now, in the eyes of the Mexicans all foreigners were English, no matter the nation to which they belonged, and consequently heretics. Hence they naturally ranked, though little suspecting it, with the men whom it is no crime to kill, but whose assassination is rather looked upon as a meritorious action. We are bound to add, to the credit of the Mexicans, that whenever the occasion offered, they killed the English with an ardour which was a sufficient proof of their piety.
Don Martial continued: —
"On the faith of the Tigrero, this man has twice crossed my path, and I have spared him; but let him be careful against the third meeting."
"Oh!" Cucharés said, "the reverend Fra Becchico says that a man gains splendid indulgences by 'cutting' an Englishman. I have not yet had the luck to come across one, although I owe about eight dead men. I am much inclined to indulge myself with this one; it would be so much gained."
"On thy life, picaro, let him alone. That man belongs to me."
"Well, we'll not mention it again," he replied, stifling a sigh; "I will leave him to you. For all that it annoys me, although the niña seems to detest him cordially."
"Have you any proof of what you say?"
"What better proof than the repugnance she displays so soon as he appears, and the pallor which then covers her face without any apparent reason?"
"Ah, I would give a thousand ounces to know what to believe."
"What prevents you? Everybody is asleep – no one will see you. The story is not high – fifteen feet at the most. I am certain that Doña Anita would be delighted to have a chat with you."
"Oh, if I could but believe it!" he muttered with hesitation, casting a side glance at the still lighted window.
"Who knows? Perhaps she is expecting you."
"Silence, you scoundrel!"
"By'r Lady only listen! If what is said be true, the poor child must be in a perplexity, if not worse: she has probably great need of assistance."
"What do they say? Come, speak, but be brief."
"A very simple thing – that Doña Anita de Torrés marries within a week the Englishman, Don Gaëtano."
"You lie villain!" said the Tigrero with badly-restrained wrath. "I know not what prevents me thrusting down your throat with my dagger the odious words you have just uttered."
"You would do wrong," the other said, without being in the least discovered. "I am only an echo that repeats what it hears, nothing more. You alone in all Guaymas are ignorant of this news. After all, there is nothing astonishing in that, as you have only returned to town this day, after an absence of more than a month."
"That is true; but what is to be done?"
"Caray! Follow the advice I give you."
The Tigrero turned another long glance on the window, and let his head sink with an irresolute air.
"What will she say on seeing me?" he muttered.
"Caramba!" the lepero said in a sarcastic tone, "She will cry, 'You are welcome, alma mia!' It is clear, caray! Don Martial, have you become a timid child, that a woman's glance can make you tremble? Opportunity has only three hairs, in love as in war. You must seize her when she presents herself: if you do not, you run a risk of not meeting her again."
The Mexican approached the lepero near enough to touch him, and, fixing his glance on his tiger-cat eyes, said in a low and concentrated voice, —
"Cucharés, I trust in you. You know me. I have often come to your assistance. Were you to deceive my confidence I would kill you like a coyote."
The Tigrero pronounced these words with such an accent of dull fury, that the lepero, who knew the man before whom he was standing, turned pale in spite of himself, and felt a shudder of terror pass through his limbs.
"I am devoted to you, Don Martial," he replied in a voice, which he tried in vain to render firm. "Whatever may happen, count on me. What must I do?"
"Nothing; but wait, watch, at the least suspicious sound, the first hostile shadow that appears in the darkness, warn me."
"Count on me. Go to work. I am deaf and dumb, and during your absence I will watch over you like a son over his father."
"Good!" the Tigrero said.
He drew a few steps nearer, undid the reata fastened round his loins, and held it in his right hand. Then he raised his eyes, measured the distance and turning the reata forcibly round his head, hurled it into Doña Anita's balcony. The running knot caught in an iron hook, and remained firmly attached.
"Remember!" the Tigrero said, as he turned toward Cucharés.
"Go on," the latter said, as he leaned against the wall and crossed his legs; "I answer for everything."
Don Martial was satisfied, or feigned to be satisfied, with this assurance. He seized the reata, and taking a leap, like one of those panthers he had so often tracked on the prairies, he raised himself by the strength of his wrists, and speedily reached the balcony. He climbed over