Wood Rangers: The Trappers of Sonora. Reid Mayne
which smugglers would have done. They made no particular noise, but, on the other hand, they did not observe any exact silence. Moreover their costume was not that ordinarily worn by the regular contrabandista.
“Who the devil can they be?” asked Pepé of himself.
The coast-guard lay concealed behind some tufts of withered grass that formed a border along the crest of the slope. Through these he could observe the movements of the three men in the boat.
At an order from the one who sat in the stern sheets, the other two leaped ashore, as if with the design of reconnoitring the ground. He who issued the order, and who appeared to be the chief of the party, remained seated in the boat.
Pepé was for a moment undecided whether he should permit the two to pass him on the road; but the view of the boat, left in charge of a single man, soon fixed his resolution.
He kept his place, therefore, motionless as ever, scarce allowing himself to breathe, until the two men arrived below him, and only a few feet from the spot where he was lying.
Each was armed with a long Catalonian knife, and Pepé could see that the costume which both wore was that of the Spanish privateers of the time – a sort of mixture of the uniform of the royal navy of Spain, and that of the merchant service; but he could not see their faces, hid as they were under the slouched Basque bonnet.
All at once the two men halted. A piece of rock, detached by the knees of the coast-guard, had glided down the slope and fallen near their feet.
“Did you hear anything?” hastily asked one.
“No; did you?”
“I thought I heard something falling from above there,” replied the first speaker; pointing upward to the spot where Pepé was concealed.
“Bah! it was some mouse running into its hole.”
“If this slope wasn’t so infernally steep, I’d climb up and see,” said the first.
“I tell you we have nothing to fear,” rejoined the second; “the night is as black as a pot of pitch, and besides – the other, hasn’t he assured us that he will answer for the man on guard, who sleeps all day long?”
“Just for that reason he may not sleep at night. Remain here, I’ll go round and climb up. Carramba! if I find this sleepy-head,” he added, holding out his long knife, the blade of which glittered through the darkness, “so much the worse – or, perhaps, so much the better for him – for I shall send him where he may sleep forever.”
“Mil diablos!” thought Pepé, “this fellow is a philosopher! By the holy virgin I am long enough here.”
And at this thought, he crept out of the folds of his cloak like a snake out of his skin, and leaving the garment where it lay, crawled rapidly away from the spot.
Until he had got to a considerable distance, he was so cautious not to make any noise, that, to use a Spanish expression, the very ground itself did not know he was passing over it.
In this way he advanced, carbine in hand, until he was opposite the point where the boat rested against the beach. There he stopped to recover his breath, – at the same time fixing his eye upon the individual that was alone.
The latter appeared to be buried in a sombre reverie, motionless as a statue, and wrapped in an ample cloak, which served both to conceal his person and protect him from the humidity of the atmosphere. His eyes were turned toward the sea; and for this reason he did not perceive the dark form of the carabinier approaching in the opposite direction.
The latter advanced with stealthy tread – measuring the distance with his eye – until at length he stood within a few paces of the boat.
Just then the stranger made a movement as if to turn his face towards the shore, when Pepé, like a tiger hounding upon its prey, launched himself forward to the side of the boat.
“It is I!” he exclaimed, bringing the muzzle of his carbine on a level with the man’s breast. “Don’t move or you are a dead man!”
“You, who?” asked the astonished stranger, his eyes sparkling with rage, and not even lowering their glance before the threatening attitude of his enemy.
“Why me! Pepé – you know well enough? Pepé, the Sleeper?”
“Curses upon him, if he has betrayed me?” muttered, the stranger, as if speaking to himself.
“If you are speaking of Don Lucas Despierto,” interrupted the carabinier, “I can assure you he is incapable of such a thing; and if I am here it is because that he has been only too discreet, señor smuggler.”
“Smuggler!” exclaimed the unknown, in a tone of proud disdain.
“When I say smuggler,” replied Pepé, chuckling at his own perspicuity, “it is only meant as a compliment, for you haven’t an ounce of merchandise in your boat, unless indeed,” continued he, pointing with his foot to a rope ladder, rolled up, and lying in the bottom, “unless that may be a sample! Santa Virgen! a strange sample that!”
Face to face with the unknown, the coast-guard could now examine him at his leisure.
He was a young man of about Pepé’s own age, twenty-five. His complexion had the hale tint of one who followed the sea for a profession. Thick dark eyebrows were strongly delineated against a forehead bony and broad, and from a pair of large black eyes shone a sombre fire that denoted a man of implacable passions. His arched mouth was expressive of high disdain; and the wrinkles upon his cheeks, strongly marked notwithstanding his youth, at the slightest movement, gave to his countenance an expression of arrogance and scorn. In his eyes – in his whole bearing – you could read that ambition or vengeance were the ruling passions of his soul. His fine black curling hair alone tempered the expression of severity that distinguished his physiognomy. With regard to his costume, it was simply that of an officer of the Spanish navy.
A look that would have frightened most men told the impatience with which he endured the examination of the coast-guard.
“An end to this pleasantry!” he cried out, at length. “What do you want, fellow? Speak!”
“Ah! talk of our affairs,” answered Pepé, “that is just what I desire. Well, in the first place, when those two fellows of yours return with my cloak and lantern – which they are cunning enough to make a seizure of – you will give them your commands to keep at a distance. In this way we can talk without being interrupted. Otherwise, with a single shot of this carbine, which will stretch you out dead, I shall also give the alarm. What say you? Nothing? Be it so. That answer will do for want of a better. I go on. You have given to my captain forty onzas?” continued the carabinier, with a bold guess, making sure that he named enough.
“Twenty,” replied the stranger, without reflecting.
“I would rather it had been forty,” said Pepé. “Well, one does not pay so high for the mere pleasure of a sentimental promenade along the shore of the Ensenada. My intervention need be no obstruction to it – provided you pay for my neutrality.”
“How?” asked the unknown, evidently desirous of putting an end to the scene.
“Oh, a mere bagatelle – you have given the captain forty onzas.”
“Twenty, I tell you.”
“I would rather it had been forty,” coolly repeated the carabinier, “but say twenty, then. Now I don’t wish to be indiscreet – he is a captain, I am nothing more than a poor private. I think it reasonable therefore, that I should have double what he has received.”
At this extortionate demand the stranger allowed a bitter oath to escape him, but made no answer.
“I know well,” continued Pepé, “that I am asking too little. If my captain has three times my pay, of course he has three times less need of money than I, and therefore I have the right to triple the sum he has received; but as the times are hard, I hold to my original demand – forty onzas.”
A terrible