The Free Lances: A Romance of the Mexican Valley

“What’s that to you?” saucily retorted the maid.

“Nothing, if I only knew they were safe.”

“Safe! Why what’s the man thinking – talking about? Have you lost your senses, hombre?”

“No, Pepita. But the ladies have lost something. Look here!”

He had plunged both his hands into his pockets, and drawn them out again full of things that scintillated in the moonlight – watches and jewellery of different kinds, as she saw. With a woman’s curiosity, gliding swiftly forward to examine them, she recognised every article at a glance, amazement overspreading her countenance, as it lately had his.

“Ay de mi!” she exclaimed, no longer in jesting tone. “What does it all mean, José?”

“Just what I want to know myself, and why I am asking after the Señoritas. But where are they?”

“In the garden, or the grounds somewhere. They strolled out about an hour ago, and haven’t been in since.”

“Pray God, they’re still alive! Come with me, Pepita. Let us look for them. I have terrible fears.”

So appealed to, the girl gave ready assent; and side by side they hastened towards the rear of the house, behind which were the ornamental grounds extending backwards. But they had not far to go before hearing sounds that set their minds at rest, removing all anxiety – the voices of the ladies themselves. They were not only alive, but laughing!

To José and Pepita this seemed strange as anything else – a perfect mystery. Merry after parting with all those pretty things; costly, too – worth hundreds of doblones! Withal, they were so; their lightness of heart due to the knowledge thus gained, that their own lovers were still living and safe; and something of merriment, added by that odd encounter with the enano, of which they were yet conversing.

If their behaviour mystified their servants, not less were they themselves puzzled when José presented himself before them with hands held out, saying:

“I ask your pardon for intruding, but don’t these belong to your ladyships?”

They saw their watches and other effects obtained from them by “false pretences,” as they were now to learn.

The revelation that succeeded put an end to their joyous humour; their hearts that had been light for a moment were now becoming heavier than ever. The treachery of the hunchback and his intentions were manifest. He meant to guide Santander and his soldiers to the old monastery, where they would take the patriotas by surprise.

“What is to be done, Ysabel?” despairingly asked the Donna Luisa. “How can we give them warning?”

To which the cochero, not the Countess, made answer, saying:

“I can do that, Señorita.”

His confident tone reassured them; more still his making known the design he had already conceived, and his ability to execute it. He was acquainted with the old convent and the paths leading to it – every inch of them.

It needed not their united appeal to urge him to immediate departure. He was off the instant after, and long before the clock of Talpam had struck the midnight hour, well up the mountain road, with eyes looking to the right, in the direction of the Cerro Ajusco.

Chapter Fifty Four

Monks no More

The surmise which had influenced Zorillo to leaving the convent cell earlier than he intended was a correct one. The goings on in the Refectory were, at the time, of an unusual kind – a grand occasion, as he had worded it. There were some fifty men in it; but not one of them now effecting either the garb or the behaviour of the monk. Soldiers all; or at least in warlike guise; a few wearing regular though undress uniforms, but the majority habited as “guerilleros,” in the picturesque costumes of their country. They were booted, and belted, swords by their sides, with pistols in holsters hanging against the walls, and spurs ready for buckling on. Standing in corners were stacks of carbines, and lances freshly pennoned, with their blades bright from being recently sharpened – a panoply which spoke of fighting ere long expected to take place.

It may be asked where were their horses, since all the arms and accoutrements seen around were those of cavalry? But horses they had, though not there. Each knew where to lay hands on his own, far or near, stalled in the stable of some sequestered rancho, or, it might be, mountain cavern. They were not yet assembled to hearken to the call of “Boot and Saddle.” That they would hear at a later hour, and in a different place.

The occasion of their being in such guise and together was because it was to be the last night of their sojourn in the monastery. And they were making it a merry one; the Refectory table was being loaded with the best that was left to them in meals and drinks. Upon it were what bottles remained of those famous wines from the bins of the rich haciendado– his forced contribution – and they were fast getting emptied. From the way the convives were quaffing, it was not likely that any of the Burgundy, Madeira, or Pedro Ximenes would be left behind – not even a “heel-tap.”

It had got to be midnight, and they were still in the midst of the revelry, when Rivas, who headed the table, rose to his feet, in that formal manner which tells of speech to be made or toast proclaimed.

“Camaradas!” he said, as soon as the buzz of conversation had ended, “as you’re aware, we part from this place to-night; and some of you know whither we are going and for what purpose. But not all; therefore I deem it my duty to tell you. You saw a courier who came up early this morning – bringing good news, I’m glad to say. This despatch I hold in my hand is from an old friend, General Alvarez, who, though he may not boast sangre-azul in his veins, is as brave a soldier and pure a patriot as any in the land. You know that. He tells me his Pintos are ready for a rising, and only wait for us – the ‘Free Lances’ – with some others he has summoned to join him in giving the grito. By his messenger I have sent answer that we, too, are ready, and will respond to his summons. You all approve of that, I take it?”

“All!” was the exclaim in chorus, without a dissenting voice.

“Moreover,” proceeded the speaker, “I’ve told the General we’ll be on the march to-morrow morning, and can meet him at a place he has mentioned the day after. His plan is to attack the town of Oaxaca; and, if we succeed in taking it, then we move direct on the capital. Now camarados, I’ve nothing more to say; only that you’re to scatter after your horses, and lose no time in mustering again – the old rendezvous, this side La Guarda.”

So ended the speech of the Free Lances’ leader; but despite the suggestions of immediate departure, the circle around the table did not instantly break up.

The bottles were not all empty as yet, nor the revellers satisfied to leave them till they should be so. Besides, there was no particular need of haste for another hour or two. So they stuck to the table, smoking, drinking, and toasting many things, as persons, among the latter their lately joined allies – the Irlandes and Tejano, about whose proved valour on other fields, of which they had heard, the Free Lances were enthusiastically eloquent.

Kearney, speaking in their own tongue, made appropriate response; while Rock, when told he had been toasted, delivered himself in characteristic strain, saying: —

“Feller-citizens, – For since I tuk up yur cause, I reck’n you’ll gi’e me leave to call ye so – it air a glad thing to this chile to think he’ll soon hev a bit o’ fightin’. An’ ’specially as it’s to be agin ole Santy, the durned skunk. By the jumpin’ Geehosofat! if Cris Rock iver gits longside him agin, as he war on’t San Jacinty, there wan’t be no more meercy for the cussed tyrant, same as, like a set of fools, we Texans showed him thar an’ then. Tell them what I sayed, Cap.”

With which abrupt wind-up he dropped back upon his seat, gulping down a tumblerful of best Madeira, as though it were table-beer.

Kearney did tell them, translating his comrade’s speech faithfully as the patois would permit; which heightened their enthusiasm, many of them starting to their feet, rushing round the table, and, Mexican fashion, enfolding the Tejano in friendly embrace.

The hugging at an end, there was yet another toast to follow, the same which always wound up the festivals of the “Free Lances,” whatever the occasion. Their leader, as often before, now again pronounced it —

“Patria y Libertad”.

And never before did it have more enthusiastic reception, the cheer that rang through the old convent, louder than any laughter of monks who may have ever made it their home.

Ere it had ceased reverberating, the door of the Refectory was suddenly pushed open, and a man rushed into the room, as he entered, crying out —

“Traicion!”

“Treason!” echoed fifty voices as one, all again starting to their feet, and turning faces towards the alarmist. The major-domo it was, who, as the other mozos, was half equipped for a journey.

“What mean you, Gregorio?” demanded his master.

“There’s one can tell you better than I, Don Ruperto.”

“Who? Where is he?”

“Outside, Señor. A messenger who has just come up – he’s from San Augustin.”

“But how has he passed our sentry.”

“Ah! capitano; I’d rather he told you himself.”

Mysterious speech on the part of the major-domo, which heightened the apprehension of those hearing it. “Call him hither!” commanded Rivas.

No calling was needed; the person spoken of being in the environ close by; and Gregorio, again opening the door, drew him inside.

“The cochero!” mentally exclaimed Rivas, Kearney, and the Texan, soon as setting eyes on him.