Wood Rangers: The Trappers of Sonora

“Without doubt,” replied several.

“Well then,” continued Cuchillo, “when one has given himself, body and soul, to any cause, whatever it may be, it becomes his duty, as in my case, to put a full and complete constraint upon his affections, his passions, even his dearest interests – ay, even upon any scruples of conscience that might arise in an over-delicate mind.”

“All the world knows that,” said Baraja.

“Just so, gentlemen. Well, I feel myself in that difficulty; I have a too timid conscience, I fear, and I want your opinions to guide me.”

His audience maintained an imperturbable silence.

“Suppose, then,” continued the outlaw, “there was a man whom you all held in the highest esteem, but whose life compromised the success of our expedition, what should be done with him?”

“As God lives,” cried Oroche, “I should be happy to find some occasion of sacrificing private interests to the common good.”

“But is there such a man?” inquired Diaz, “and who may he be?”

“It’s a long story,” replied Cuchillo, “and its details concern only myself – but there is such a man.”

“Carajo!” exclaimed Oroche, “that is enough; he should be got rid of as speedily as possible.”

“Is that the advice of all of you?” asked Cuchillo.

“Of course,” answered simultaneously Oroche and Baraja.

Diaz remained silent keeping himself out of this mysterious compromise. After a little, he rose from his seat, and under some pretext left the chamber.

“Well, then, gentlemen,” said Cuchillo, addressing himself to his two more facile comrades, “you are fully of the opinion that the man should be got rid of? Let me tell you, then, that this man is no other than Tiburcio Arellanos.”

“Tiburcio!” exclaimed the two acolytes.

“Himself – and although, since he is one of my dearest friends, it goes sadly against my heart, I declare to you that his life may render abortive all the plans of our expedition.”

“But,” interposed Baraja, “why may he not lose it? – to-morrow in this hunt of wild horses there will be a thousand opportunities of his losing it?”

“True enough,” said Cuchillo, in a solemn voice. “It is of great importance he should not return from this hunt. Can I rely upon you, gentlemen?”

“Blindly!” replied the two adventurers.

The storm was gathering over the head of poor Tiburcio, but danger threatened him from still another quarter; and long before the expected hunt, that danger would be at its height.

The three adventurers continued their conversation, and were entering more particularly into the details of their design, when a knocking at the outer door interrupted their sinister councils.

Chapter Twenty Four

Tiburcio in Danger

Cuchillo opened the door, outside of which appeared one of the attendants of Don Estevan. Without entering the man communicated his message – which was to Cuchillo himself – to the effect that Don Estevan awaited him in the garden. The outlaw, without reply, followed the servant, who conducted him to an alley between two rows of granadines, where a man wrapped in his cloak was pacing to and fro, apparently buried in a deep meditation. It was Don Estevan himself.

The approach of Cuchillo interrupted his reverie, and a change passed over his countenance. Had Cuchillo not been preoccupied with his own thoughts and purposes of vengeance, he might have observed on the features of the Spaniard an expression of disdainful raillery, that evidently concerned himself.

“You have sent for me?” said he to Don Estevan.

“You cannot otherwise than approve of my discretion,” began the Spaniard, without making answer. “I have allowed you time enough to sound this young fellow – you know whom I mean. Well! no doubt you have penetrated to the bottom and know all – you, whose perspicacity is only equalled by the tenderness of your conscience?”

There was an ascerbity in this speech which caused the outlaw to feel ill at ease, for it re-opened the wounds of his self-esteem.

“Well,” continued Don Estevan, “what have you learnt?”

“Nothing,” replied Cuchillo.

“Nothing!”

“No; the young man could tell me nothing, since he knew nothing himself. He has no secrets for me.”

“What! does he not suspect the existence of the Golden Valley?”

“He knows no more of it than of the Garden of Eden,” replied Cuchillo, with a confident swagger.

“What was bringing him to the hacienda, then – for that is upon the route? He must have some object in coming this way.”

“O yes! – he came to ask Don Augustin to take him into his service as a vaquero.”

“It is evident,” said the Spaniard, in a tone of mockery, “that you have gained his full confidence and know all about him.”

“I flatter myself, my perspicacity – ”

“Is only equalled by the tenderness of your conscience,” interrupted Don Estevan, still keeping up his tone of raillery. “Well, but has this young man not confided to you any other secret? You have had a long ride together, and an opportunity to talk of many things. For instance, has he said nothing to you about an affair of the heart? – has he not told you he was in love?”

“Por Dios! Who could Tiburcio be in love with in these deserts? The poor devil is likely to think more of a good horse than a pretty girl.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed the Spaniard, with a mocking laugh that sent a shivering through the frame of Cuchillo. “Well, well! friend Cuchillo, your youth promised better than this. If your conscience is as callous as your perspicacity is obtuse – which God forbid – it is not likely to interfere with your sleep.”

“What do you mean, señor?” demanded Cuchillo, evidently confounded by the reproach.

“I fear, my friend, that in the only good action you have ever done, you have made a bad hand of it.”

“Good action!” repeated Cuchillo, embarrassed to know at what epoch of his life he had done such a thing.

“Yes – in saving this young man’s life.”

“But it was you who did that good action: as for me, it was only a lucrative one.”

“Be it so. I will lend it to you, notwithstanding the proverb which says we should only lend to the rich. But now hear what I have ascertained – I, who do not boast either of my scruples of conscience or of my perspicacity. This young man has in his pocket, at this moment, a written direction of the route to the Golden Valley; moreover, he is passionately in love with Doña Rosarita, for whom he would give all the gold in this valley, or all the gold in the world, and all the horses in Sonora, if he had them. Moreover, his object in coming to the Hacienda del Venado, was to make himself its future proprietor.”

“Blood and thunder!” cried Cuchillo, started as if bitten by a snake – “that cannot be – it is not possible I could be fooled in that manner by a child!”

“That child is a giant beside you, master Cuchillo,” coldly replied Arechiza.

“It is impossible!” exclaimed the exasperated Cuchillo.