The Bandolero: or, A Marriage among the Mountains. Reid Mayne
conjecture, as I saw him stop before the door of an humble one-storied dwelling, in a street of corresponding pretensions; thoroughly convinced of it as he lifted the latch with a readiness that betokened it to be his home, and, without speaking to any one, stepped inside.
The circumstances were conclusive; he was not one of the “ricos” of the place. It explained the clandestine correspondence, and the caution observed by her who flung down the billetita.
Instead of being solaced by the thought, it only increased my bitterness of spirit. I should have been better pleased to have seen my rival surrounded by splendour. A love unattracted by this must be indeed disinterested – without the possibility of being displaced. No chance to supplant the lover who is loved for himself. I did not harbour a hope.
A slight incident had given me the clue to a romantic tale. Mercedes Villa-Señor, daughter of one of the richest men in the place – inhabiting one of its grandest mansions – in secret correspondence with a man wearing a threadbare coat, having his home in one of the lowliest dwellings to be found in the City of the Angels!
I was not much surprised at the discovery. I knew it to be one of the “Cosas de Mexico.” But the knowledge did not lessen my chagrin.
Chapter Nine.
Muera El Americano!
Like a thief skulking after the unsuspecting pedestrian, on whom he intends to practise his professional skill, so did I follow Francisco.
Absorbed in the earnestness of my purpose, I did not observe three genuine thieves, who were skulking after me.
I am scarce exact in my nomenclature. They were not thieves, but picarones-à-pied– footpads.
My first acquaintance with these gentry was now to be made.
As already said, I was not aware that any one was imitating me, in the somewhat disreputable rôle I was playing.
After watching my rival disappear within his doorway, I remained for some seconds in the street – undecided which way to go. I had done with “querido Francisco;” and intended to return to my quarters.
But where were they? Engrossed by my espionage I had made no note of the direction, and was now lost in the streets of La Puebla!
What was to be done? I stood considering.
All of a sudden I felt myself grappled from behind!
Both my arms were seized simultaneously, at the same time that a garota was extended across my throat!
They were strong men who had taken hold of me; but not strong enough to retain it.
I was then in the very vigour of my manhood; and, though it may seem vanity to say so, it was a vigour not easily overcome.
With a quick wrench, I threw off the two flankers; and turning suddenly – so that the garota was diverted from its purpose – I got a blow at the ruffian who held it that sent him face foremost upon the pavement.
Before any of the three could renew their attempt, I had my revolver in hand – ready to deal death to the first who re-assailed me.
The footpads stood aghast. They had not expected such a determined resistance; and, if left to themselves, in all probability, I should have seen no more of them that night.
If left to themselves, I could have dealt with them conveniently enough. In truth, I could have taken the lives of all three, as they stood in their speechless bewilderment.
I held in my hand a Colt’s six-shooter, Number 2; another in my belt; twelve shots in all – sure as the best percussion caps and careful loading could make them. A fourth of the shots would have sufficed: for I had no thought of taking uncertain aim.
Despite the cause given me for excitement, I never felt cooler in my life – that is for a combat. For an hour before, my nerves had been undergoing a strain, that served only to strengthen them.
I had been in want of something upon which to pour out my gathering wrath; and here was the thing itself. God, or the devil, seemed to have sent the three thieves as a safety-valve to my swollen passion – a sort of target on which to expend it!
Jesting apart, I thought so at the time; and so sure was I of being able to immolate the trio at my leisure, that I only hesitated as to which of them I should shoot down first!
You may be incredulous. I can assure you that the scene I am describing is no mere romance, but the transcript of a real occurrence. So also are the thoughts associated with it.
I stood eyeing my assailants, undecided about the selection.
I had my finger on the trigger; but, before pressing it, a quick reflection came into my mind that restrained me from shooting.
It was still early – not quite ten o’clock – and the pavement was alive with passengers. I had passed several on entering the little street; and, from the place where I stood, I could see a dozen dark forms flitting about, or loitering by the doors of the houses.
They were all leperos of the low quarter.
The report of my pistol would bring a crowd of them around me; and, although I might disembarrass myself of the footpads, I should be in as much, or more, danger from the patriotas!
I was quite sensible of the perilous situation in which I had placed myself by my imprudent promenade.
As the robbers appeared to have given up their design upon my purse, and were making their best speed to get out of reach of my pistol, I thought the wisest way would be to let them go off.
With this design I was about to content myself – only staying to pick up my cloak, that in the struggle had fallen from my shoulders.
Having recovered it, I commenced taking my departure from the place.
I had not gone six paces, when I became half convinced that I had made a mistake, and that it would have been better to have killed the three thieves. After doing so, I might have found time to steal off unobserved.
Allowing them to escape, I had given them the opportunity to return in greater strength, and under a different pretence from that of their former profession.
A cry that all three raised as they ran down the street, was answered by a score of other voices; and, before I had time to make out its meaning, I was surrounded by a circle of faces, scowling upon me with an expression of unmistakeable hostility.
Were they all robbers – associates of the three who had assaulted me?
Had I chanced into one of those streets entirely abandoned to the thieving fraternity – such as may be found in European cities – where the guardians of the night do not dare to shew their faces?
This was my first impression, as I noted the angry looks and hostile attitude of those who came clustering around me.
It became quickly changed, as I listened to the phrase, fiercely vociferated in my ears:
“Dios y Libertad! Muera el Americano!”
The discomfited footpads had returned upon a new tack. They had seen my uniform, as it became uncloaked in the struggle; and, under a pretence of patriotism, were now about to take satisfaction for their discomfiture and disappointment.
By good fortune I was standing upon a spot where there was a tolerable light – thrown upon the street by a couple of lamps suspended near.
Had it been darker, I might have been set upon at once, and cut down, before I could distinguish my antagonists. But the light benefited me in a different way. It exposed to my new assailants a brace of Colt’s revolvers – one held in hand and ready to be discharged; the other ready to be drawn.
The knife was their weapon. I could see a dozen blades bared simultaneously around me; but to get to such close quarters would cost some of them their lives.
They had the sharpness to perceive it; and halting at several paces distance – formed a sort of irregular ring around me.
It was not a complete circle, but only the half: for I had taken my stand against