CHAPTER V.
THE WOUND.
At sunrise, Don Miguel, mounted on an excellent horse, left the Paso,and proceeded toward the hacienda where he resided with his family. Itwas situated a few miles from the Presidio of San Elezario, in adelicious position, and was known as the _Hacienda de la Noria_ (theFarm of the Well). The estate inhabited by Don Miguel stood in thecentre of the vast delta formed by the Del Norte and the Rio San Pedro,or Devil's River. It was one of those strong and massive buildings whichthe Spaniards alone knew how to erect when they were absolute masters ofMexico.
The hacienda formed a vast parallelogram, supported at regular distancesby enormous cross walls of carved stone. Like all the frontierhabitations, which are rather fortresses than houses, it was onlypierced on the side of the plain with a few narrow windows resemblingloopholes, and protected by solid iron bars. This abode was begirt by athick wall of circumvallation, defended on the top by that fretworkcalled _almenas_, which indicated the nobility of the owner. Within thiswall, but separated from the chief apartments, were the stables,outhouses, barns and cabins for the peons.
At the extremity of the courtyard, in an angle of the hacienda, was thetall square belfry of the chapel, rising above its terraced roof. Thischapel was served by a monk called Fray Ambrosio. A magnificent plainclosed in this splendid farm. At the end of a valley more than fiftymiles in length were cactus trees of a conical shape, loaded with fruitand flowers, and whose stems were as much as six feet in diameter.
Don Miguel employed a considerable number of peons in the cultivation ofthe sugar cane, which he carried on upon a very large scale. Aseverybody knows, the cane is planted by laying it horizontally infurrows half a foot deep. From each knot springs a shoot which reaches aheight of about three yards, and which is cut at the end of a year toextract the juice.
Nothing can be more picturesque than the sight of a field of sugarcanes. It was one of those superb American mornings during which natureseems to be holding a festival. The _centzontle_ (American nightingale)frequently poured forth its harmonious notes; the red throstledcardinals, the blue birds, the parakeets, chattered gaily beneath thefoliage; far away on the plain galloped flocks of light antelopes andtimid ashatas, while on the extreme verge of the horizon rushed startled_manadas_ of wild horses, which raised clouds of impalpable dust beneaththe vibration of their rapid hoofs. A few alligators, carelesslystretched out on the river mud, were drying their scales in the sun, andin mid air the grand eagles of the Sierra Madre hovered majesticallyabove the valley.
Don Miguel advanced rapidly at the favourite pace of the Mexican_jinetes,_ and which consists in making the horse raise its front legs,while the hind ones almost graze the ground--a peculiar sort of amblewhich is very gentle and rapid. The hacendero only employed four hoursin traversing the distance separating him from the hacienda, where hearrived about nine in the morning. He was received on the threshold ofthe house by his daughter, who, warned of his arrival, had hastened tomeet him.
Don Miguel had been absent from home a fortnight; hence, he received hisdaughter's caresses with the greatest pleasure. When he had embraced herseveral times, while continuing to hold her tightly clasped in his arms,he regarded her attentively during several seconds.
"What is the matter, _mi querida_ Clara?" he asked with sympathy. "Youseem very sad. Can you feel vexed at the sight of me?" he added, with asmile.
"Oh, you cannot believe that, father!" she answered quickly; "for youknow how happy your presence must render me."
"Thanks, my child! But whence, in that case, comes the sorrow I seespread over your features?"
The maiden let her eyes sink, but made no reply.
Don Miguel threw a searching glance around.
"Where is Don Pablo?" he said. "Why has he not come to greet me? Can hebe away from the hacienda?"
"No, father, he is here."
"Well, then, what is the reason he is not by your side?"
"Because--" the girl said, with hesitation.
"Well?"
"He is ill."
"My son ill!" Don Miguel exclaimed.
"I am wrong," Dona Clara corrected herself.
"Explain yourself, in Heaven's name!"
"My father, the fact is that Pablo is wounded."
"Wounded!" the hacendero sharply said; and thrusting his daughteraside, he rushed toward the house, bounded up the few steps leading tothe porch, crossed several rooms without stopping, and reached his son'schamber. The young man was lying, weak and faint, on his bed; but onperceiving his parent he smiled, and held his hand to him. Don Miguelwas fondly attached to his son, his sole heir, and walked up to him.
"What is this wound of which I have heard?" he asked him in greatagitation.
"Less than nothing, father," the young man replied, exchanging a meaningglance with his sister, who entered at the moment. "Clara is a foolishgirl, who, in her tenderness, wrongly alarmed you."
"But, after all, you are wounded?" the father continued.
"But I repeat that it is a mere nothing."
"Come, explain yourself. How and when did you receive this wound?"
The young man blushed, and maintained silence.
"I insist on knowing," Don Miguel continued pressingly.
"Good heavens, father!" Don Pablo replied with an air of ill-humour, "Ido not understand why you are alarmed for so futile a cause. I am not achild, whom a scratch should make frightened; and many times have I beenwounded previously, and you have not disturbed yourself so much."
"That is possible; but the mode in which you answer me, the care youseem trying to take to keep me ignorant of the cause of this wound--in aword, everything tells me that this time you are trying to hidesomething grave from me."
"You are mistaken, father, and shall convince yourself."
"I wish nothing more: speak. Clara, my child, go and give orders to havebreakfast prepared, for I am dying of hunger."
The girl went out.
"Now it is our turn," Don Miguel continued. "In the first place, whereare you wounded?"
"Oh! I have merely a slight scratch on my shoulder: if I went to bed itwas more through indolence than any other motive."
"Hum! and what scratched your shoulder?"
"A bullet."
"What! A bullet! Then you must have fought a duel, unhappy boy!" DonMiguel exclaimed with a shudder.
The young man smiled, pressed his father's hand, and bending toward him,said,--
"This is what has happened."
"I am listening to you," Don Miguel replied, making an effort to calmhimself.
"Two days after your departure, father," Don Pablo continued, "I wassuperintending, as you wished me to do, the cutting of the cane crop,when a hunter whom you will probably remember having seen prowling aboutthe estate, a man of the name of Andres Garote, accosted me at themoment I was about to return home after giving my orders to themajordomo. After saluting me obsequiously as his wont, the scamp smiledcunningly, and lowering his voice so as not to be overheard by thosearound us, said, 'Don Pablo, I fancy you would give half an ounce to theman who brought you important news?' 'That depends,' I answered; for,having known the man a long time, I was aware much confidence could notbe placed in him. 'Bah! Your grace is so rich,' he continuedinsidiously, 'that a miserable sum like that is less than nothing in hispocket, while in mine it would do me a deal of good.'
"Apart from his defects, this scamp had at times done us a few smallservices; and then, as he said, a half-ounce is but a trifle, so I gaveit to him. He stowed it away in his pockets, and then bent down to myear. 'Thanks, Don Pablo,' he said to me. 'I shall not cheat you of yourmoney. Your horse is rested, and can stand a long journey. Proceed toBuffalo Valley, and there you will learn something to interest you.' Itwas in vain that I urged him to explain himself more clearly; I coulddraw no more from him. He merely added before parting from me, 'DonPablo, you have good weapons; so take them with you, for no man knowethwhat may happen.' Somehow the scamp's veiled confidence
aroused mycuriosity: hence I resolved to go to Buffalo Valley, and gain the clueof this riddle."
"Andres Garote is a villain, who laid a snare for you, into which youfell," Don Miguel interrupted.
"No, father, you are mistaken. Andres was honest towards me, and I haveonly thanks to give him. Still he should have explained himself,perhaps, more distinctly."
The hacendero shook his head with a doubting air.
"Go on," he said.
"I entered my house, procured the weapons, and then, mounted on Negro,my black charger, I proceeded toward Buffalo Valley. As you are aware,father, the place we call so, and which belongs to us, is an immenseforest of cedars and maples, nearly forty miles in circumference, andtraversed almost through its entire length by a wide confluent of theRio San Pedro."
"Of course I know it, and I intend next year to fell some of the woodthere."
"You need not take the trouble," the young man said with a smile, "forsomeone has done it for you."
"What do you mean?" the hacendero asked wrathfully. "Who dared?"
"Oh! One of those wretched heretic squatters, as they call themselves.The villain found the spot to suit him, and has quietly settled therewith his three whelps--three big fellows with hang-dog faces, wholaughed at me when I told them the forest was mine, and answered, whileaiming at me, that they were North Americans, who cared as little for meas they did for a coyote; that the ground belonged to the first comer;and that I shall afford them lively pleasure by being off at full speed.What more shall I tell you, father? I take after you. I have hot blood,and I cordially hate that race of Yankee pirates, who, for some yearsback, have settled on our lovely country like a swarm of mosquitoes. Isaw our forest plundered, our finest trees cut down. I could not remainunmoved in the presence of these scoundrels' insolence, and the quarrelbecame so sharp that they fired at me."
"_Virgen Santisima_!" Don Miguel exclaimed in fury, "They shall paydearly for the affront they have offered you I swear it! I will takeexemplary vengeance."
"Why be so angry, father?" the young man replied, visibly annoyed at theeffect his story had produced. "The harm these people do us is reallyvery trifling. I was in the wrong to let my passion carry me away."
"On the contrary, you were right. I will not have these Northern thievescome and commit their plunder here. I will put a stop to it."
"I assure you that, if you will leave me to act, I feel certain ofarranging this affair to your entire satisfaction."
"I forbid you taking the slightest steps, for this matter concerns menow. Whatever may occur, I do not wish you to interfere. Will youpromise me this?"
"As you insist, I do so, father."
"Very good. Get cured as speedily as possible, and keep your mind atrest. The Yankees shall pay me dearly for the blood they have shed."
With these words Don Miguel retired, and his son fell back on his bedstifling a sigh, and uttering a hoarse exclamation of passion.