CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.
ON DOWN THE MOUNTAIN.
"Dead!" muttered the inhuman wretch, as he stood upon the spot lateoccupied by his victim, looking down over the cliff. "Dead he must be;unless a man can fall two hundred feet and still live; which isn'tlikely. That clears the way, I take it; and unless I have the ill luckto meet some one coming up--a straggler--it'll be all right. As soundascends, I ought to hear them before they could _see_ me. I shall keepmy ears open."
Saying which he _commenced_ the descent of the _second_ slope,proceeding in the same cautious way as before.
The path was but a ledge, which, after running fifty yards in a directline, made an abrupt double back in the opposite direction, all thewhile obliquing downwards. Another similar zig-zag, with a like lengthof declivity traversed, and he found himself at the cliff's base, amongshadowy, thick standing trees. He remembered the place, and that beforereaching it on their way up they had followed the trend of the cliff formore than a quarter of a mile. So, taking this for his guide, he kepton along the back track.
Not far, before seeing that which brought him to a stop. If he hadentertained any doubt about the sentinel being dead, it would have beenresolved now. There lay the man's body among the loose rocks, not onlylifeless, but shapeless. A break in the continuity of the timber letthe moonlight through, giving the murderer a full view of him he hadmurdered.
The sentinel had fallen upon his back, and lay with his face upward, hiscrushed body doubled over a boulder; the blood was welling from hismouth and nostrils, and the open eyes glared ghastly in the white, weirdlight. It was a sight to inspire fear in the mind of an ordinaryindividual, even in that of a murderer. But it had no effect on thisstrange _lusus_ of humanity, whose courage was equal to his cruelty.Instead of giving the body a wide berth, and scared-like stealing past,he walked boldly up to it, saying in apostrophe--
"So you're there! Well, you need not blame me, but your luck. If Ihadn't pushed you over, you'd have shot me like a dog, or brained mewith the butt of your gun. Aha! I was too much for you, Mr Monk orsoldier, whichever you were, for you're neither now.
"Just possible," he continued, changing the form of his monologue, "hemay have a purse; the which I'm sure to stand in need of before thistime to-morrow. If without money, his weapons may be of use to me."
With a nimbleness which bespoke him no novice at trying pockets, he soontouched the bottom of all those on the body, to find them empty.
"Bah!" he ejaculated, drawing back with a disappointed air, "I mighthave known there was nothing in them. Whatever cash they've had upthere has been spent long ago, and their wine will soon be out too. Hisgun I don't care for; besides, I see it's broken;--yes, the stocksnapped clean off. But this stiletto, it's worth taking with me. Evenif I shouldn't need it as a weapon, it looks like a thing Mr Pawnbrokerwould appreciate."
Snatching the dagger--a silver-hilted one--from the corpse of itsill-starred owner, he secreted it inside his tattered rag of a coat, andwithout delay proceeded on.
Soon after he came to a point where the path, forsaking the cliff,turned to the left, down the slope of the mountain. He knew that wouldtake him into the Pedregal, where he did not desire to go. Besides hisdoubts of being able to find the way through the lava field, there wasno particular need for his attempting so difficult a track. All hewanted was to get back to the city by the most direct route, and as soonas possible into the presence of a man of whom during late days he hadbeen thinking much. For from this man he expected much, in return for atale he could tell him. It must be told direct, and for this reason allcaution was required. He might fall into hands that would not onlyhinder him from relating it in the right quarter, but prevent histelling it at all.
Just where the path diverged to the left, going down to the Pedregal, amass of rocks rose bare above the tops of the trees. Clambering to itssummit he obtained a view of what lay below; the whole valley bathed inbright moonlight, green meadows, fields of maize, and maguey, greatsheets of water with haze hanging over them, white and gauzy as a bridalveil. The city itself was distinguishable at a long distance, and inplaces nearer specklings of white telling of some _pueblita_, or singlespots where stood a _rancho_ or _hacienda_. Closer still, almost underhis feet, a clump of those mottlings was more conspicuous; which herecognised as the _pueblo_ of San Augustin. A narrow ribbon-like stripof greyish white passing through it, and on to the city, he knew to bethe Great Southern or Acapulco Road, which enters the capital by the_garita_ of San Antonio de Abad. This route he decided on taking.
Having made note of the necessary bearings, he slipped back down theside of the rock, and looked about for a path leading to the right.
Not long till he discovered one, a mere trace made by wild animalsthrough the underwood--sufficiently practicable for him, as he couldwork his way through any tangle of thicket. Sprawling along it, andrapidly, despite all obstructions, he at length came out on the AcapulcoRoad, a wide causeway, with the moon full upon it.
The track was easy and clear even now, too clear to satisfy him. Hewould have preferred a darker night San Augustin had to be passedthrough, and he knew that in it were both _serenos_ and _alguazils_.Besides, he had heard the _moxos_ at the monastery speak of troopsstationed there, and patrols at all hours along the roads around. Iftaken up by these he might still hope to reach his intended destination;but neither in the time he desired, nor the way he wished. He mustapproach the man with whom he meant seeking an interview, not as aprisoner but voluntarily. And he must see this man soon, to make thingseffectual, as the reward he was dreaming of sure.
Urged by these reflections, he made no further delay; but taking to thedusty road, moved in all haste along it. In one way the moon was in hisfavour. The causeway was not straight, for it was still a deep descenttowards the valley, and carried by zig-zags; so that at each angle hewas enabled to scan the stretch ahead, and see that it was clear, beforeexposing himself upon it. Then he would advance rapidly on the nextturning-point, stop again, and reconnoitre.
Thus alternately making traverses and pauses, he at length reached theoutskirts of the _pueblo_, unchallenged and unobserved. But the problemwas how to pass through it; all the more difficult at that early hour.He had heard the church clock tolling the hours as he came down themountain, and he knew it had not struck ten. A beautiful night, thevillagers would be all abroad; and how was he to appear in the streetwithout attracting notice--he above all men? His deformity of itselfwould betray him. An expression of blackest bitterness came over hisfeatures as he thus reflected. But it was not a time to indulge insentimentalities. San Augustin must be got through somehow, if he couldnot find a way around it.
For this last he had been looking some time, both to the right and left.To his joy, just as he caught sight of the first houses--villaresidences they were, far straggling along the road--a lane running inbehind them seemed to promise what he was in search of. From itsdirection it should enable him to turn the village, without thenecessity of passing through the _plaza_, or at all entering upon thestreets. Without more ado he dodged into the lane.
It proved the very sort of way he was wishing for; dark from beingovershadowed with trees. A high park-like wall extended along one sideof it, within which were the trees, their great boughs drooping downover.
Keeping close in to the wall he glided on, and had got some distancefrom the main road, when he saw that which brought him to a suddenstop--a man approaching from the opposite direction. In the dim light,the figure was as yet barely discernible, but there was a certainsomething in its gait--the confidential swagger of the policeman--whichcaught the practised eye of Zorillo, involuntarily drawing from him themuttered speech--
"_Maltida sea_! An alguazil!"
Whether the man was this or not, he must be avoided; and, luckily forthe dwarf, the means of shunning him were at hand, easy as convenient.It was but to raise his long arms above his head, lay hold of one of theoverhanging branche
s, and draw himself up to the top of the wall; whichhe did upon the instant. It was a structure of _adobes_, with a copingquite a yard in width, and laid flat along this, he was altogetherinvisible to one passing below.
The man, alguazil or not, neither saw him nor suspected his being there,but walked tranquilly on.
When he was well beyond earshot the dwarf, deeming himself safe, wasabout to drop back into the lane, when a murmur of voices prompted himto keep his perch. They were feminine, sweet as the sound of ripplingbrooks, and gradually becoming more distinct; which told him that thosefrom whom they proceeded were approaching the spot. He had alreadyobserved that the enclosure was a grand ornamental garden with walks,fountains, and flowers; a large house on its farther side.
Presently the speakers appeared--two young ladies sauntering side byside along one of the walks, the soft moonlight streaming down uponthem. As it fell full upon their faces, now turned toward the wall, thedwarf started at a recognition, inwardly exclaiming--
"_Santissima_! The senoritas of the carriage!"