CHAPTER III.
THE PIRATE'S BEQUEST.
The wanderer whose careless progress through the brake sufficientlyclearly revealed that he was a stranger of a bold heart and contemptfor customs different from his own, was, in fact, one of thoseEnglishmen who seem born to illustrate, in the nature of exceptions,the formal character of his race.
Left an orphan in the fetters of a trustee who forgot he had everbeen young, and showed no sympathy with his charge, George FrederickGladsden had broken his bondage and run away from school at the age oftwelve. Reaching a Scotch port, after a long tramp, he shipped as boyon a herring fisher, and so made his novitiate with Neptune. After thatinitiation, very severe, he chose to become a sailor of that irregularkind which is known as the _pier head jumping_. That is to say, insteadof duly entering on a vessel and book at the office in broad daylight,"George" would lounge on the wharf till the very moment of her castingoff. Then, of course, the captain is happy to take anybody in the leastnautical or even able-bodied, who offers himself in lieu of one ofthe regularly engaged mariners detained by accident, debt, or drink.By this means Gladsden's trustee and kinsfolk could never prevent himgoing wheresoever he willed, and it pleased this briny Arab to keep hiswhereabouts a mystery, though, to amuse himself and annoy his guardian,he would send him a letter from some dreadfully out-of-the-way port,just to show he did exist, and to prevent the estate being locked up ordiverted under the law.
Meanwhile, the young roaming Englishman became so thorough a proficientin the honourable calling, and had so much courage and intelligencethat, even in the merchant service, where the prizes are few and hotlyfought for, he must have obtained a supportable, if not a brilliantposition.
Unfortunately for himself he had an execrably fitful head, and was thedeclared foe of Draconian discipline. If there had been pirates onthe seas he might even have joined them, only then to have enjoyed adelightful existence of "Jack his own master."
Quarrelling with his latest skipper, a seal hunter, on the LowerCalifornian coast, that Spaniard, rather alarmed at the turbulent mate,was relieved when he accepted the offer of an Hermosillo planter tobecome his manager, and not only broke the engagement between them,but presented Gladsden with some dollars and his gun on their parting.The Englishman promised well up in the country, but the fowl in theswamp allured him into hunting trips with some Indians, and he turnedsuch a vagabond that the indolent Sonoran came to the conclusionthat, as the skipper of the seal fur cruiser had warned him, he hadcontracted with a maniac.
One day, Gladsden and the Indians, turning their backs on the SanMiguel swamps, wandered off, the Englishman cared not whither. Hisdusky comrades were soon displeased by his careless march, and a littlelater, disgusted by his even resenting their counsels for him to takeprecautions, since, not only were there other Indians "out," but oneof the most notorious salteadores who had ever troubled any part ofunquiet Mexico was overawing the whole of the tract between the SanMiguel and the San Jose. To which the mad Englishman replied, with acalmness which startled the red men, though masters of self-repression,that such daring traits aroused in him a lively curiosity, and thestrongest desire to face this very famous Matasiete, "the Slayer ofSeven," the terror of Sonora.
Seeing this obstinacy, our sly Yaquis solved the perplexity byabandoning their burr one morning whilst he was still sleeping, andleaving him only his gun and what powder and ball he carried. His horseand other property they removed with them lest, in his folly, he shouldonly turn the valuables over to the redskins not of their tribe, or theMexican depredators.
For all of his maritime knowledge which helps the student of sky andweather on land, Gladsden was in a quandary when thus thrown on his owndevices. As, however, he never wrangled with himself, he took up hissolitary march without any self-communing, and followed the impulse ofthe moment.
Fortunately, game never failed him, and though the only flavouring wasgunpowder, the fare had not palled upon him up to his coming within ourcircle of vision.
He was "loping" along, very like a sated wolf, listless, when heunexpectedly, and by the purest chance, spied the gleaming body of anIndian, stealing before him amongst the foliage, always in the thickestparts.
His resolve awakening to give the Yaquis a lecture, with cuts of theramrod, upon the "Fault of Abandoning a Hunting Companion in theDesert," he quickened his pace, but almost immediately perceived thatthe savage was another guess sort of a bird, one more likely, armed forwar as he was, and determined of aspect as ever was a brave, to dealout punishment than receive it unrequitingly.
In fact, the fierce, hungry, set face of the pursuer of the Mexicanprotectors of dona Dolores would have sufficed to impress even a morenonchalant person than our Englishman.
"Mischief in the wind," thought he.
And as a white man on seeing a man of another hue on the trail, at oncebelieves that the object of the chase is one of his own colour, heturned to, and, having no other intentions to overrule, began to dogthe slayer of don Jose de Miranda as successfully and closely as he wasfollowing the Mexicans. It was not to be expected that the foreignerdid not make blunders in this manhunt, so novel to him, but his veryincaution or missteps actually helped him, for the savage, unable tobelieve that a man would dream of breaking a twig noisily in a wildperhaps not devoid of certain enemies, attributed the two or threealarming sounds in his rear to animals, from whom he had nothing todread.
In brief, Gladsden arrived at the halting place of the Mexicans in timeto see poor Benito make his stand, and hear the savage, as he disclosedhimself, utter the arrogant "_Presente_" as he bared his knife tocomplete his triple tragedy.
The Englishman saw there was a flutter of a woman's dress that appealedto his gallantry, the blood splashes from don Jose on the stump,and the valiant but weak port of don Benito. He feared that to jumptowards the Apache would not stay that ugly knife, so he lifted the gunwhich was Captain Saone's parting gift, and sent a bullet through thewarrior's head.
As quickly upon the echoes of the report, as if it had been a signal,and, for that matter, the two men who bounded upon the marksman hadbeen afraid to "tackle" him whilst his firearm was "full"--a standingitem in prairie fighting--the Englishman was set upon by a man oneither side. Spite of his strength he was hurled off his feet, andsecured with a lariat and gagged with moss, all with a celeritywhich proved that he had been overcome by bandits of no despicableexperience. When he was perfectly incapacitated from more than winking,as one of the fellows remarked in a whisper, that facetious roguewarily proceeded to inspect the result of the shot.
It had so laudably obeyed its impulsion, that the Mexican, afterone look at the Indian, felicitated himself on not having been soprecipitate as to draw that bullet on himself.
The spot was quiet, Benito, clotted red smearing his shoulder, seemedas lifeless as the red man. The young girl and her father, whose bloodreddened her ragged dress, were equally among the lifeless, to allcursory examination.
The Mexican picked up the weapons of the Indian, said: "A loneChiricahua Apache!" as he spurned the body out of wantonness, andreturned to his comrades.
"The captain will be gratified, Farruco," said he, pushing the Indian'sweapons within his sash; "there they all lie, in a heap, the don, thedaughter and their young companion, with the Chiricahua who was hiredto dog them to the death, slain by our chalky faced long shot here."
"If we cut his throat, Pepillo, then we shall make a clearance of thewhole cluster," returned Farruco, complacently, even laying his hand onthe buckhorn haft of a knife.
"A word to that! You are always for taking the crowning pleasure of arunning down! Am I to have no thanks even for having saved you fromrunning your hasty head against this heretic's gun? A thousand demonsshall not rob me of my prey! You have already grabbed his gun! I willhave the cutting of his throat."
The silenced object of this very pretty growing dispute looked upcalmly, but sufficiently interested, be sure, out of his gray eyes.
"One momen
t, let us throw dice for the pleasure!"
"Nonsense! We all know the top heaviness of your dice."
The other duly laughed at this allusion to a vantage which is notalways accepted as a compliment.
"Let us draw leaves--long or short!"
"I agree, Pepillo; there's a bayonet palm at your elbow."
The Mexican turned to gather a couple of leaves of different length,when the captive saw the face of his comrade shine with a hellishjoy. Noiseless he drew out the Indian's tomahawk from his belt and inanother second he would have buried it in the back of the unsuspectingbandit. The monstrous fondness for cruelty which impelled this wantonmurder was so repugnant to the Englishman that he, bound too tightlyfor any other movement, rolled himself, by working his elbow and knee,right against the feet thrown forward of the traitor. The shock was notenough to make the blow fully miscarry, but the axe only cleft thewretch's collarbone, glancing the flesh to one side along it on partialwithdrawal with an agony imparted which made the recipient yell. Heflung himself round, and drawing his knife at the same inappreciablesecond of time, broke through the other's guard with the hatchet, andburied the blade in his heart so forcibly that the hilt drove hisbreath out of his lungs with a loud sound. Farruco pitched over uponthe Englishman, and died before he had ceased his groan of despair.
The wounded outlaw sat himself down, without any but self-concern, toattend to his wound, to which he applied a dressing of chewed leaves.Then studying the scene, he suddenly became conscious that the movementof the loglike form of the prisoner between his assassin's legs hadsaved his life, if, always granted, it were a curable wound.
Without a word, like a man who fears to hesitate in his formationof a good but novel whim, lest he revokes its realisation to remainconsistent with his daily and worse nature, Pepillo, without wiping thefatal knife, severed the leather thongs around Gladsden.
"One good turn," said he, sententiously, as becomes a Spaniard,but prudently setting his foot on the gun of which the captive wasdespoiled.
"Yes, he meant to split your skull, that's all," remarked the latter,sitting up and chafing his limbs to restore the circulation. "He was apirate; and you have only anticipated his suspension at a yardarm."
Pepillo paid no attention to him. He had picked up the Indian'shatchet, and seemed to be regarding with an antiquarian zeal the designtraced in an idle moment or two, now and then, with the hunting knife.Then, contracting his brow more in terror than in pain, and turningpale in the same increasing dread rather than from loss of blood, heejaculated:
"The villain! The assassin! It is a copper bronze hatchet! I ampoisoned! I shall die of lockjaw!" Then, noting the incredulousexpression of the bystander, who had, however, been sufficientlysympathetic as to rise to his throbbing feet and lean towards thesufferer, "I tell you, Pagan, that the Indian was one of the _ApachesEmponzonadores_--the sect of the Poison Hatchets, and I am--the Lordand my patron saint forgive me--a dead man!"
Gladsden looked at the tomahawk, and, after the man's utterance,thought the metal head gave out a sinister gleam. Then, recalling allhe ever knew of copper poisoning, he said:
"Let me attend to the cut," in a tone which made the sufferer see thathe was taken as the victim of terror rather more than mortal pain.
Still, as the gash was beyond his simple remedy, the Indian cataplasmwhich should have allayed the fiery feeling which even augmented fromthe first, Pepillo yielded to his late enemy like a child, with thatcompliance of the Latin races under mortal injury.
A seafarer knows much about cuts, and so, at the first glance afterremoving the herb poultice, Gladsden recognised that the cut, clean ininfliction, was aggravated shockingly.
"You see!" cried the Mexican, triumphantly, as far as the victoryover the other's disbelief was concerned, but with acute agony at hiscertainty being confirmed; "Am I not a lost man?"
"In that case," replied the Englishman, taking up his gun and chargingit methodically out of Farruco's powder horn as the nearest, "I will goand see about the wearer of that woman's dress whom I caught a glimpseof yonder, when you and your mate all but anticipated my shot at thatscreeching savage."
"Don't leave me!"
"But I must! Gallantry, my dear ex-captor."
"Leave me not!" reiterated Pepillo, who had supported himself with hisgun whilst the Englishman had looked at his hurt, "For the sake of mywidow and four little ones."
"A bandit with a family," observed Gladsden. "This is curious."
"Yes; who know not of my mode of life," appealed the salteador, fallinginto a seated position and clasping his hands. "By the rules of ourband--for I am one of the Caballeros de la Noche, of Matasiete--all mygoods fall in to the gang! But my wife--my Angela! My little ones--myangelitos! Have still more compassion, you greatly noble American ofthe North, and hear my _viva voce_ testament in their behalf."
"Go on," was the reply. "Considering where the commissioner to takeoaths--who is only an Englishman, by the way, and no American of theNorthern States--where he has his office opened, and the improbabilityof his traversing a wilderness of poisonous vermin of all descriptionsto file your testament, it is a pure formality. However," he added,the while the dying robber divided his time between a disjointedsupplication and wrestlings against a pain that convulsed him severelyat intervals more and more closely recurrent, "will away your 'baccabox and your knife and sash. I'll do my best to carry them to thelegatees."
"Listen to me," said Pepillo solemnly, and beckoning him to approach.His voice was singular in sound; his features contorted, his clayey,pale face streaming with cold, thick perspiration. "I have not alwaysbeen a ranger of the prairie. I was a sailor, like you are, as I caughtin your speech. Do you know the islands on the other coast of the Gulfof California?"
"I have only sailed round to Guaymas."
"I will draw you the chart. Due north from Cantador Island I have atreasure. Laugh not, raise no brow in derision. In coin, and emeralds,gold, silver, and pearls, I have over a million dollars."
"Nonsense!"
"I am the last of the band of Colonel Dartois the Filibuster, and Itell you I am the sole treasurer of the crew."
The Englishman was not acquainted with that adventurer, of muchnotoriety in his day on the Pacific Coast, but the tone of the dyingman was sincere.
"Be quick, then, thou dying one, to give the clue," said he as ifconvinced, whether so or not.