"It was so little that I gave Tio Tomas warning, and received _two_ hundred dollars to prevent his nephew becoming his heir. I committed a fault in--despatching the nephew without giving him warning, as I ought to have done, perhaps. It was then I felt how inconvenient a quarrelsome conscience like mine may become. I seized upon the only means of composition which was left me. The nephew"s money was a continual remorse to me, and I resolved to get rid of it."
"Of the money?"
"Not so."
"And you despatched the uncle as well?" cried Pepe.
Cuchillo a.s.sented.
"From that time my conscience had but little to reproach me with. I had gained three hundred dollars by the most ingenious integrity."
Cuchillo was yet smiling, when Fabian exclaimed--
"Were you paid for a.s.sa.s.sinating Marcos Arellanos?"
At this astounding accusation a livid paleness overspread Cuchillo"s features.
He could no longer disguise from himself the fate that awaited him.
The bandage which covered his eyes fell suddenly; and to the flattering delusions with which he had deceived himself succeeded a formidable reality.
"Marcos Arellanos!" he stammered out in a weak voice, "who told you that? I did not kill him!"
Fabian smiled bitterly.
"Who tells the shepherd," he cried, "where the den of the jaguar is to be found that devours his sheep?
"Who tells the vaquero where the horse that he pursues has taken refuge?
"To the Indian, the enemy he seeks?
"To the gold-seeker the ore, concealed by G.o.d?
"The surface of the lake only does not preserve the trace of the bird which flies over its waters, nor the form of the cloud which it reflects; but the earth, with its herbs and mosses, reveals to us sons of the desert, the print of the jaguar"s foot as well as the horse"s hoof and the Indian"s track; do you not know it, even as I do?"
"I did not kill Arellanos," repeated the a.s.sa.s.sin.
"You did kill him; you cut his throat near to our common country; you threw his corpse into the river; the earth revealed it to me--since I noticed the defect in the horse you rode, as well as the wound in your leg, which you received in the struggle."
"Pardon, Don Tiburcio?" cried Cuchillo, overwhelmed by the sudden revelation of these facts, to which G.o.d alone had been witness. "Take back all the gold you gave me, but spare my life; and to show my grat.i.tude, I will kill all your enemies everywhere, and always at a sign from you--for nothing--even my father, if you command me; but in the name of the all-powerful G.o.d, spare my life--spare me my life!" he continued, crawling forward and clutching at Fabian"s knees.
"Arellanos also craved for mercy; did you listen to him?" said Fabian, turning away.
"But when I killed him, it was that I might possess all this gold myself. Now I restore it all for my life--what can you want more?" he continued, while he resisted Pepe"s efforts, who was trying to prevent him from kissing Fabian"s feet.
With features distorted by excess of terror, a whitish foam upon his lips, his eyes starting from his head, yet seeing nothing, Cuchillo still sued for mercy, as he endeavoured to crawl towards Fabian. He had by continued efforts reached the edge of the platform. Behind his head, the sheet of water fell foaming downwards.
"Mercy, mercy!" he cried, "in the name of your mother--for Dona Rosarita"s sake, who loves you, for I know that she loves you--I heard--"
"What?" cried Fabian, in his turn rushing towards Cuchillo, but the question expired upon his lips.
Spurned along the earth by the carabinier"s foot Cuchillo with head and arms stretched back was hurled into the abyss!
"What have you done, Pepe?" exclaimed Fabian.
"The wretch," said the ex-carabinier, "was not worth the cord which might have hung him, nor the bullet that would have sent him out of the world."
A piercing cry,--a cry which rose from the abyss--which drowned their voices and was heard above the roar of the cascade, caused Fabian to stretch his head forward and withdraw it again in horror. Hanging to the branches of a shrub which bent beneath his weight, and which scarce adhering to the sides of the rock, was fast giving way, Cuchillo hung over the abyss, howling forth his terror and anguish.
"Help!" he shouted, in a voice despairing as the d.a.m.ned. "Help! if you are human beings--help!"
The three friends exchanged a glance of unutterable meaning, as each one wiped the sweat from his brow.
Suddenly the bandit"s voice grew faint, and amidst horrible bursts of laughter, like the shrieks of a lunatic, were heard the last inarticulate words that escaped his lips.
A moment after, and the noise of the cascade alone broke the silence of the desert. The abyss had swallowed up him whose life had been a long tissue of crime.
CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.
THE MAN OF THE RED KERCHIEF.
Six months have elapsed since the three hunters, without deigning to carry with them a single grain of the treasures of the valley of gold, directed their steps, following the course of the Rio Gila, to the plains of Texas. The rainy had succeeded to the dry season, without anything being known of their fate, or of the expedition commanded by Don Estevan de Arechiza.
Diaz was no more, having carried with him to the tomb the secret of the wonderful valley--and Gayferos had followed his three liberators. What had become of these intrepid hunters who had willingly encountered fatigues, privations and dangers, instead of returning to civilised life? Were they as rich and powerful as they might have been? Had the desert claimed these three n.o.ble spirits, as it has done so many others?
Like the monk, who seeks in the silence of cloister forgetfulness of the world"s vain show, had Fabian in the sublimity of solitude been able to forget the woman who loved him, and who secretly hoped for and expected his return?
What we are about to relate will answer these questions.
One sultry afternoon, two men, mounted and armed to the teeth, pursued the lonely road which leads from the utmost confines of the province of Sonora to the Presidio of Tubac. Their costume, the coa.r.s.e equipment of their steeds, and the beauty of the latter, formed on the whole a striking contrast and seemed to indicate subalterns despatched by some rich proprietor, either to carry or to seek information.
The first was clothed in leather from head to foot, like the vaquero of some n.o.ble hacienda. The second, dark and bearded like a Moor, though less simply attired than his companion, did not appear to be of much greater consideration.
At the end of a journey of some days the white houses of the Presidio began to appear in the distance. The two cavaliers had probably exhausted every subject of conversation, for they trotted on in silence.
The scanty vegetation which covered the plains they were crossing was again becoming parched by the sun, after the winter rains; and the dry gra.s.s harboured innumerable gra.s.shoppers whose shrill note was heard incessantly, mingled with the scorching breath of the south wind. The foliage of the Peruvian trees drooped languidly over the burning sand, like the willows upon the banks of a stream.
The two cavaliers arrived at the entrance of the Presidio just as the church clock sounded the evening _angelus_.
Tubac was then a village with two cross streets, its houses built of cement, with only a few windows in the front, as is the custom in places exposed to the sudden excursions of the Indians. Strong movable barriers, formed by trunks of trees, protected the four approaches to the village; and a piece of the artillery of the country, raised upon its carriage, was erected behind each of these barriers.
Previous to following the new-comers into the Presidio, we must relate an incident which, insignificant in itself, nevertheless acquired some importance in the heart of a solitary village of Tubac.
During the s.p.a.ce of a fortnight a mysterious personage--inasmuch as he was unknown to the inhabitants of the Presidio--had frequently, and for a short time, appeared there. He was a man of about forty years of age, thin, but rough and vigorous in appearance, whose countenance seemed to tell of dangers overcome, but whose speech was as rare as his physiognomy was expressive. He replied shortly to any questions addressed to him; but, on the other hand, he asked a great many, and appeared particularly anxious to know what was pa.s.sing at the Hacienda del Venado.
Some of the inhabitants of the Presidency knew the rich proprietor very well by repute, but few amongst them--or, one might rather say, none of them--were so thoroughly acquainted with Don Augustin Pena, as to be capable of answering the questions of the stranger.