The Tiger-Slayer: A Tale of the Indian Desert. Aimard Gustave
tables, held by persons of distinction, were publicly open in the principal houses; but the fact which gave this festival a strangeness impossible to find elsewhere was, that monte tables were displayed in every street in the open air, on which gold tinkled, and where everybody possessed of a real had the right to risk it, without distinction of caste or colour.
In Mexico everything is done differently from other countries. The inhabitants of this country, having no reminiscences of the past which they wish to forget, no faith in the future in which they do not believe, only live for the present, and exist with that feverish energy peculiar to races which feel their end approaching.
The Mexicans have two marked tastes which govern them entirely, play and love. We say tastes, and not passions, for the Mexicans are not capable of those great emotions which conquer the will, and overthrow the human economy by developing an energetic power of action.
The groups round the monte tables were numerous and animated. Still, everything went on with an order and tranquility which nothing troubled, although no agent of the government was walking about the streets to maintain a good intelligence and watch the gamblers.
About halfway up the Calle de la Merced, one of the widest in Guaymas, and opposite a house of goodly appearance, there stood a table covered with a green baize and piled up with gold ounces, behind which a man of about thirty, with a crafty face, was stationed, who, with a pack of cards in his hand, and a smile on his lips, invited by the most insinuating remarks the numerous spectators who surrounded him to tempt fortune.
"Come, caballeros," he said in a honeyed tone, while turning a provocative glance upon the wretched men, haughtily draped in their rags, who regarded him with extreme indifference, "I cannot always win; luck is going to turn, I am sure. Here are one hundred ounces: who will cover them?"
No one answered.
The banker, not allowing himself to be defeated, let a tinkling cascade of ounces glide through his fingers, whose tawny reflection was capable of turning the most resolute head.
"It is a nice sum, caballeros, one hundred ounces: with them the ugliest man is certain of gaining the smiles of beauty. Come, who will cover them?"
"Bah," a lepero said, with a disdainful air, "what are one hundred ounces? Had you not won my last tlaco, Tío Lucas, I would cover them, that I would."
"I am in despair, Señor Cucharés," the banker replied with a bow, "that luck was so much against you, and I should feel delighted if you would allow me to lend you an ounce."
"You are jesting," the lepero said, drawing himself up haughtily. "Keep your gold, Tío Lucas; I know the way to procure as much as I want, whenever I think proper; but," he added, bowing with the most exquisite politeness, "I am not the less grateful to you for your generous offer."
And he offered the banker, across the table, his hand, which the latter pressed with great cordiality.
The lepero profited by the occasion to pick up with his free hand a pile of twenty ounces that was in his reach.
Tío Lucas had great difficulty in restraining himself, but he feigned not to have seen anything.
After this interchange of good offices there was a moment's silence. The spectators had seen everything that occurred, and therefore awaited with some curiosity the dénouement of this scene. Señor Cucharés was the first to renew the conversation.
"Oh!" he suddenly shouted, striking his forehead, "I believe, by Nuestra Señora de la Merced, that I am losing my head."
"Why so, caballero?" Tío Lucas asked, visibly disturbed by this exclamation.
"Caray! It's very simple," the other went on. "Did I not tell you just now that you had won all my money?"
"You certainly said so, and these caballeros heard it with me: to your last ochavo – those were your very words."
"I remember it perfectly, and it is that which makes me so mad."
"What!" the banker exclaimed with feigned astonishment, "You are mad because I won from you?"
"Oh, no, it's not that."
"What is it, then?"
"Caramba! It is because I made a mistake, and I have some ounces still left."
"Impossible!"
"Just see, then."
The lepero put his hand in his pocket, and, with unparalleled effrontery, displayed to the banker the gold he had just stolen from him. But the latter did not wince.
"It is incredible," said he.
"Eh?" the lepero interjected, fixing a flashing eye on the other.
"Yes, it is incredible that you, Señor Cucharés, should have made such a slip of memory."
"Well, as I have remembered it, all can be set right now; we can continue our game."
"Very good: one hundred ounces is the stake."
"Oh no! I haven't that amount."
"Nonsense! Feel in your pockets again."
"It is useless; I know I haven't got it."
"That is really most annoying."
"How so?"
"Because I have vowed not to play for less."
"Then you won't cover twenty ounces?"
"I cannot; I would not cover one short of a hundred."
"H'm!" the lepero went on, knitting his brows, "is that meant for an insult, Tío Lucas?"
The banker had no time to reply; for a man of about thirty, mounted on a magnificent black horse, had stopped for a few seconds before the table, and, while carelessly smoking his cigar, listened to the discussion between the banker and the lepero.
"Done for one hundred ounces," he said, as he cleared a way by means of his horse's chest up to the table, on which he dropped a purse full of gold.
The two speakers suddenly raised their heads.
"Here are the cards, caballero," the banker hastened to say, glad of an incident which temporarily freed him from a dangerous opponent. Cucharés shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and looked at the newcomer.
"Oh!" he muttered to himself, "the Tigrero! Has he come for Anita? I must know that."
And he gently drew nearer the stranger, and presently stood by his side.
He was a tall man, with an olive complexion, a piercing glance, and an open and resolute face. His dress, of the greatest richness, glistened with gold and diamonds. He wore, slightly inclined over his left ear, a broad brimmed sombrero, surrounded by a golilla of fine gold: his spencer of blue cloth, embroidered with silver, allowed a dazzling white shirt to be seen, under the collar of which passed a cravat of China crape, fastened with a diamond ring; his calzoneras, drawn up round the hips by a red silk scarf with gold fringed ends and two rows of diamond buttons, were open at the side, and allowed his calzón to float beneath; he wore botas vaqueras (or herdsmen) boots of figured leather, richly embroidered, attached below the knee by a garter of silver tissue; while his manga, glistening with gold, hung tastefully from his right shoulder.
His horse, with a small head and legs fine as spindles, was splendidly accoutred: las armas de agua and the zarapé fastened to the croup, and the magnificent anquera adorned with steel chains, completed a caparison of which we can form no idea in Europe.
Like all Mexicans of a certain class when travelling, the stranger was armed from head to foot; that is to say, in addition to the lasso fastened to the saddle, and the rifle laid across the saddle-bow, he had also by his side a long sword, and a pair of pistols in his girdle, without reckoning the knife whose silver inlaid hilt could be seen peeping out of one of his boots.
Such as we have described him, this man was the perfect type of a Mexican of Sonora – ever ready for peace or war, fearing the one no more than he despised the other. After bowing politely to Tío Lucas he took the cards the latter offered him, and shuffled them while looking around him.
"Ah!" he said,