Wood Rangers: The Trappers of Sonora

He paused to light his cigar of maize husk, and then resumed:

“Six months ago an expedition set out from here in search of gold dust. This expedition was headed by one named – let me see —carrai! I have heard him called by so many names that I cannot remember any!”

“Don Estevan Arechiza!” replied one of the interlocutors, “a Spaniard, and one such as we do not often see in this country; one who seemed, by his noble deportment and majestic countenance, to have commanded all his life.”

“Don Estevan Arechiza: the very same,” said the major-domo, “a man who as far exceeds all others in generosity as a gamester who has just won a fortune. But let me return to the expedition; about how many men composed it, do you guess?”

“More than eighty started out with it.”

“More than a hundred,” suggested another.

“You are mistaken – the number was not a hundred in all,” interrupted a third.

“That matters little to Don Augustin, my master. It is far more important to know how many returned.”

Upon this point also there were two different opinions.

“Not a single one,” remarked a voice.

“Yes; there was one, and but one,” continued another.

The major-domo rubbed his hands with an air of satisfaction.

“Good!” said he, “then at least one is saved, provided this gentleman, who declares that all the gold-seekers are not dead, be rightly informed, as I hope he is.”

“Do you not think,” said the last who had spoken, “that the man of the red handkerchief may not be one of those whose departure we witnessed six months ago? I would swear to it by the cross and Gospel.”

“No! not so!” cried another, “that man never set foot in the Presidio before the other day.”

“In any case,” interrupted a third, “the man of the red handkerchief has doubtless something of interest in store for Don Augustin Peña, since he has so often inquired about him. With these gentlemen, he will probably be more communicative than with us.”

“That will be just what we desire,” resumed the major-domo.

“You must know, then, and I may without indiscretion inform you,” continued he, “that Don Augustin Peña, whom God preserve, was the intimate friend of Señor Arechiza, and that he has had no news of him for six months past, which would be natural enough if he has been massacred by the Indians with all the rest. But my master is anxious for his return, that he may marry his daughter, Doña Rosarita, a beautiful and charming person, to the Senator Don Vicente Tragaduros. Months have elapsed, and since the hacienda is not on the main road from Arispe to Tubac, and that we cannot gain information from any one upon the subject of this deplorable expedition, Don Augustin determined upon sending us here to inquire about it. When he shall have established the fact that Don Estevan’s return is impossible – and as young girls do not readily meet with Senators in the heart of the desert – nor do the latter often find there girls whose marriage portion is worth two hundred thousand piastres – ”

“Carramba! that is a high figure.”

“True, friend,” continued the major-domo, “then the projected marriage will take place to the mutual satisfaction of all parties. Such is the object of our journey to Tubac. If, therefore, you can conduct me to him whom you describe as the sole survivor of this expedition, we shall perhaps learn from him what we wish to discover.”

The conversation had reached this stage, when, at some distance from the house where it was taking place, a man was seen passing, with his head bent downwards.

“See!” said one of the party, pointing to the man in question; “there goes your sole survivor.”

“In truth, it is a person whose conduct is sufficiently mysterious,” added the host. “For some days past he has done nothing but come and go, from one place to another, without informing any one of the object of his journeyings.”

“If it please you, we shall question him?” proposed one.

“Hola! friend!” cried another of the party; “come this way; here is a gentleman who is anxious to see and speak with you.”

The mysterious unknown approached at the summons.

“Señor cavalier,” said the major-domo, courteously addressing him, “it is not to gratify an idle curiosity that I now address you; but the master whom I serve feels a natural anxiety at the disappearance of a friend, whose death he would greatly deplore. What do you know of Don Estevan de Arechiza?”

“Many things. But, pray what is the name of the master of whom you speak?”

“Don Augustin Peña – proprietor of the Hacienda del Venado.”

A ray of joy lit up the countenance of the unknown.

“I am able,” he said, “to furnish Don Augustin with all the information he may desire. How many days’ journey is it from hence to the hacienda?”

“Three days’ journey, with a good horse.”

“I possess a capital one; and if you can wait for me until to-morrow evening, I shall accompany you, and communicate with Don Augustin in person.”

“Be it so,” answered the major-domo.

“Very well,” added the man of the red handkerchief; “to-morrow at this same hour we will start, so that we may travel by night, and so escape the heat.”

Saying this, he took his departure, when the major-domo remarked:

“It must be agreed, gentlemen, that nothing can exceed the complaisance of this cavalier of the red handkerchief.”

The arrangement did not satisfy the bystanders, who were thoroughly disappointed; but their interest was renewed, on seeing the man of the red handkerchief pass by on horseback, and depart at full speed towards the north.

The unknown kept his promise: and on the day following he returned at the hour of the evening angelus.

Don Augustin’s two envoys took leave of their host, assuring him of a kind welcome, if ever his affairs led him in the direction of the Hacienda del Venado. Even the poorest in this primitive country, would blush to receive any other reward for hospitality than sincere thanks, and a promise that they in their turn should receive it.

The three horsemen set off at full speed; the horse of the unknown equalled in strength and mettle those of Don Augustin’s envoys. The journey was rapidly accomplished; and at dawn of the third day, they could trace in the distance the clock-tower of the Hacienda del Venado, and an hour afterwards they dismounted in the court-yard. Although it was at that early hour when the sun sheds its most enlivening rays, everything which surrounded this habitation bore the stamp of melancholy. One might have supposed that the gloomy nature of the inmates was reflected upon its exterior.

Doña Rosarita was dying of grief; and this filled the haciendado with the deepest anxiety. Don Augustin’s daughter could not help the belief that Fabian yet lived. But why, then, had not Tiburcio, as she always called him, returned to the hacienda? Either he was dead, or he no longer loved her? It was this uncertainty that gave rise to Doña Rosarita’s deep dejection.

Another source of anxiety to the haciendado, was the absence of all news from the Duke de Armada; and to this anxiety was added impatience. The projected marriage between Rosarita and the Senator had been devised by Don Estevan. Tragaduros had urged its fulfilment. Don Augustin had laid the proposal before his daughter, but she replied only by tears; and her father still hesitated.

However, at the expiration of six months, it was determined to put an end to the uncertainty by sending to the Presidio for information concerning the expedition commanded by Don Estevan. It was the last respite that poor Rosarita had ventured to demand.

The Senator had absented himself for some days from the hacienda, when the major-domo returned, and Don Augustin was informed of the arrival of a stranger who could remove his uncertainty. He ordered the stranger to be introduced into the chamber already known to the reader; and Doña Rosarita, who had been sent for, speedily joined her father.

In a few moments the stranger presented himself. A wide felt hat, to which on entering he raised his hand without removing it, shaded his face, upon which a keen anxiety was visible. From beneath the broad brim of his hat a red handkerchief fell so low upon his forehead as almost to conceal his eyebrows, and from beneath its shadow he gazed with a singular interest upon the pale countenance of the young girl.

Chapter Fifty Three

The Stranger’s Story

Her head veiled by a silk scarf which partly concealed the luxuriant tresses of her dark hair as they fell in luxuriant clusters upon her bosom, Doña Rosarita’s countenance gave evidence of long and secret suffering.

As she seated herself, a look of deep disquietude increased her paleness. It seemed as though the young girl feared the approach of a moment, in which she might be required to renounce those sweet dreams of the past, for the reality of a future she dared not contemplate.