Wood Rangers Part 23

"Especially when you don't happen to lose," sneeringly added Cuchillo.

"That is not a very delicate insinuation," said Baraja gathering up the cards. "Fye, fye! Senor Cuchillo--to get angry about such a trifle! I myself have lost half a hacienda at play--after being robbed of the other half--and yet I never said a word about it."

"Didn't you indeed? what's that to me? I shall speak as I please, Senor Baraja, and as loudly as I please too," added he, placing his hand upon the hilt of his knife.

"Yes," coolly answered Baraja, "I know you use words _that cause your friends to drop dead_; but these words are harmless at a distance-- besides I have got a tongue as sharp as yours, Senor Cuchillo."

As Baraja said this, he drew his knife from its sheath--in which action he was imitated by his antagonist--and both placed themselves simultaneously in an att.i.tude for fight.

Oroche coolly took up his mandolin--which at the interference of Cuchillo he had laid aside--and, like a bard of ancient times was, preparing to accompany the combat with a chant, when Diaz suddenly interposed between the two champions.

"For shame, gentlemen!" cried he; "what! two men made to be mutual friends, thus to cut each other's throats for a few paltry dollars! on the eve too of becoming the owners of a hundred times as much! Have I not understood you to say, Senor Cuchillo, that you were to be the guide of our expedition? Your life is no more your own, then; it belongs to us all, and you have no right to risk it. And you, Senor Baraja! you have not the right to attempt the life of our guide. Come! put up your knives, and let there be no more of this matter."

This speech recalled the two combatants to their senses. Cuchillo remembering the grand interest he had in the success of the expedition, and perceiving that the risk of life was playing a little too high--for a combat of this sort usually ends in the death of one or the other-- gave ready ear to the counsel of Diaz. Baraja, on his side, reflected that the dollars he had already pocketed might be better employed than in defraying the expenses of his own funeral; and on this reflection was equally ready to desist from his intention.

"Be it so, then!" cried Cuchillo, speaking first; "I sacrifice my feelings to the common good."

"And I," said Baraja, "I am willing to follow so n.o.ble an example. I disarm--but--I shall play no more."

The knives were again stuck into their scabbards, and the two adversaries mutually extended their hands to one another.

At this moment, Diaz, by way of preventing any allusion to the recent quarrel, suddenly turning to Cuchillo, demanded:

"Who, Senor Cuchillo, is this young man whom I saw riding by your side as you came up to the hacienda? Notwithstanding the friends.h.i.+p that appeared to exist between you and him, if I mistake not, I observed you regarding one another with an occasional glance of mistrust--not to say hostility. Was it not so?"

Cuchillo recounted how they had found Tiburcio half dead upon the road, and also the other circ.u.mstances, already known to the reader; but the question put by Diaz had brought the red colour into the face of the outlaw, for it recalled to him how his cunning had been outwitted by the young man, and also how he had been made to tremble a moment under Tiburcio's menace. Writhing under these remembrances, he was now determined to make his vengeance more secure, by enlisting his a.s.sociates as accomplices of his design.

"It often happens," said he, in a significant tone, "that one man's interest must be sacrificed to the common welfare--just as I have now done--does it not?"

"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 pa.s.sions, 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 G.o.d 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 pa.s.sed 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?"